


Fighting Fire with Gasoline

by CavannaRose



Series: Rose Wilson Fics [21]
Category: Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Huntress (Comics), Ravager - Fandom, Teen Titans (Comics), Terror Titans (Comics)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Crime Fighting, Death, Explicit Language, Exploitation, Gen, Gore, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Human Trafficking, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Infiltration, Mind Control, Murder, Parental Moments, Psychological Torture, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Team Up, The C word, Torture, exploitation of minors, reluctant partnership
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 04:43:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 36
Words: 42,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17419298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: Rose Wilson has been hunting for the Harvest Association for over a year, and now she's finally found a way in. She'll be forced into questionable behaviour as she infiltrates the Association, trying to find a way to root it out from the very top rungs.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This work deals with topics like exploitation and slavery in a very real way. They are not written to be titillating, but rather to demonstrate the horror that these situations incur. No scenes of an explicit nature will graphically describe interference with minors.

The world was full of criminals. Scum that preyed on the weak and fed on the misery that lurked in the darkest corners of the world. Certain atmospheres, certain places, seemed to attract them, and none moreso than Gotham City. Despite having more vigilantes per capita than anywhere else Rose had ever heard of, the criminal underbelly of the dark metropolis seemed to thrive, rising to the challenge that the masked avengers put forward. No matter how many bats, birds or whatever other trendy nomenclature was circulating the current generation of crime fighters, the capes and tights crew couldn’t hold back the constant tide of sin and sorrow that swept through the streets.

No matter how far afield she traveled, something inexorably drew her back to this pit of human refuse. Fresh from a stint in Siberia, she was almost glad to be back on familiar streets. The cracked pavement called to her, reminding her that this is where she truly belonged. She wasn’t a hero, and that’s not what this rundown excuse for a city needed. She was a killer, an agent of harsh justice, and she was more than willing to make calls that others wouldn’t, if the price was right. Then again, there were battles she’d fight for free, and that was what had summoned her back across the big water this evening.

She had tracked this lead all over the world. From Peru, to Rwanda, up to Siberia, and then back again. Here, in Gotham, she was pretty sure she would find the route to the centre of the ring of human smugglers she had been systematically targeting. She’d stumbled across the group calling themselves the Harvest Association by accident. A member had gotten in bad with one of the big South American drug cartels, and while she was busting up his warehouse, she’d found his dirty little secret. Of all the criminals out there, Rose hated no one as much as those that bought and sold people. They were, as far as she was concerned, the lowest of the low. So she’d followed half-hinted leads as far as they would take her, traversing the globe as she studied the Association.

They were clever, far cleverer than crooks had any right to be. They covered their tracks, kept their business compartmentalized, and dealt with issues with a scorched earth policy she couldn’t help but admire, even as she loathed them for it. She wasn’t sure that she could break this one open alone, but she’d burned enough of her own bridges she wasn’t sure who she could reach out to anymore, if anyone. Better to work it alone, though she had never done infiltration work without backup before.

Currently she stood on a rooftop, overlooking the docks where she knew a pickup was being made that night. The scumbags were smart, kept things small to avoid detection. One at a time they were rounding up prime flesh, some based on custom orders, and smuggling them out of the country with a handler. They were cautious, too. The guys doing the pickup only knew they were getting passengers, not whether there was cargo, the handler only had a location and a time, and he didn’t know it was a pickup. Rose had the big picture though, and a plan. Tonight, she was going to intervene, take the place of the cargo, and finally find where all these poor souls were taken before they were sold. Whispers hinted at a massive training compound, a place designed to break the spirit. She gave the wind a fierce grin. They hadn’t ever faced a Wilson before.

There, to the right a car with darkly tinted windows was crawling towards the docks. Handler and prey, right on schedule. Cracking her knuckles, Rose crouched low, prepared to drop down and put the hurt on the handler before he made it to the men waiting to receive him and his cargo on the dock. The fewer who knew she wasn’t supposed to be here, the better.

Tension crackled around Rose like electricity, every atom of her body alive with anticipation. Despite how hard she fought against it, this was what she lived for. The good she did was secondary to the joy that unrestrained violence sent singing through her veins. Fingers curling in anticipation, she drew one of her paired katanas, the sound of metal leaving sheathes barely a whisper in the still night air. The vehicle below slowed to stop for a red light, and Rose sprung into action.

She leapt from the building, a small grunt escaping her as her feet hit the pavement, but she pushed forward with the momentum, rolling, blade whirling as hip and shoulder hit the ground next and then she was springing upright and launching herself through the open driver’s side window. The startled squawk of the driver is silenced as her trailing katana opens a cut across his vocal chords, the hot, coppery scent of fresh blood permeated the confined space. In the back seat, the procurer for the Harvest Association is shouting, reaching for his gun, fool. If he were truly devoted to the cause, he would have tried for his phone, warned the others. He might not realize it yet, but he was already dead.

Rose waited, patience making her muscles twitch along her arm, holding the blade so it pointed at the man’s face. A slow, cold smile graced her features as the trembling scumbag finally managed to cock the pistol, aiming it, mostly, at her head. “Y-you’re making a big mistake, lady. You don’t know who I work for. They’ve got eyes everywhere, agents in every city. If you interfere, they’ll be hunting you down.”

The white-haired mercenary laughed, the sound icier than the blue of her single, staring eye, and the sweating agent of the Harvest Association flinched. He was entirely unimpressive. Middle-aged, paunchy, hair starting to recede. Barely a blip on her radar, but he had to be dealt with. Her frigid gaze flickered across the backseat, noting he was alone. “Where’s the cargo?” Rose bit out, focusing on the idiot who still hadn’t tried to shoot her yet.

He whimpered, further decreasing the young assassin’s interest in the proceedings. Intimidation and interrogation were less fun when the target was so scared he was about to wet himself. She didn’t have much taste for parlaying with slavers to begin with. You didn’t argue with a cockroach, you stomped on it until its guts painted the floor and moved on with your life. She tilted her head to one side, gauging the force of blow needed, then struck, fast as a cobra. Her katana danced past the hand holding the gun, opening up the artery that ran along the length of the man’s arm. As the useless pistol dropped to the carpeted floor of his vehicle, she silenced his howling complaints with a second flick of her arm, slitting his throat as neatly as she had the driver’s.

Opening the passenger-side door, Rose stepped into the night, filling her lungs with the smog-filled air of a Gotham night. Carefully she cleaned her blade off on the wilted grass of the curbside, and then she dragged the heavy bodies of both driver and agent into the gutter. Pulling out her phone, she flicked it open and hit the speed dial. “Kuttler, I need a cleanup team down by the old docks. Payment is in the breast pocket of the older body.” Not waiting for a response, she hung up, leaning forward and rifling through the pockets of the deceased. Wallets revealed ID cards, credit cards, and about a thousand dollars in cash. She pocketed half the money, tucking the rest into the embroidered jacket pocket of the agent.

That taken care of she moved to the trunk, keys jingling as she shifted uncomfortably, almost afraid of what she’d find. The trunk opened quietly, and inside was an unconscious young woman, barely out of her teens. She had platinum blonde hair and the scanty nightgown she wore clearly displayed the heavy bruising on her arms and legs. Rose sheathed her blade, gently lifting the girl out and propping her against the side of the car. She pulled a small plastic container from her belt pouch, snapping it and waving it beneath the girl’s nostrils. After a moment her eyelids fluttered open, and she flinched away, a small scream dying on her lips when she saw Wilson.

“You’re safe now. There’s a police station five blocks away. I want you to run, not walk, the whole way. Tell them everything you remember. Understand?” The girl nodded, and the former Teen Titan stepped aside so she could leave, sprinting with admirable strength considering she’d just been passed out in a trunk. Rose wasn’t afraid that she’d be harassed by anyone tonight, the smart criminals knew she was out and about, and the dumb ones wouldn’t be able to catch the fleet-footed blonde.

With a sigh, the white-haired woman unhooked her katanas, placing them beside the bodies on the ground. Kuttler would collect them and hold onto them for her, and she didn’t want to risk them getting confiscated. That done, she checked that her daggers and pistols were still in place, and slid into the driver’s seat. She’d figure out what story to tell the pick up agents when she got there. Time to infiltrate a slaver ring.


	2. Chapter 2

Up ahead, unseen by Rose at the moment, a crossbow bolt shot through the air. Gasping, one of the men blinked and reached for the bolt in his chest. He looked to the man next to him and before either could react he was knocked back by another bolt. Slinging the crossbow over her shoulder, the Huntress burst from the shadows and launched her body at the men. A well placed kick nailed one in the temple, and as she spun, she swept the legs out from under the other. They hit the ground groaning and she slid into the shadows again. The forward guard were down.

"What was that?!" A panicked voice called out as she climbed on top of a shipping container. Silently padding along the length, she glanced down, her eyebrow arching as she saw the white-haired woman work her way through men like they were cardboard cut-outs in a funhouse. Helena recognized her from her work, and from the whispers around the city.

"What are you doing here?" Helena whispered, keeping quiet so she could watch her work. It seemed the human trafficking ring had caught the attention of a few. She just hoped no one else crashed this party. Glancing around she caught sight of another thug trying to get away from the carnage they both witnessed. Stepping off of the crate she landed on the man's shoulders and she swung her body to slam him into the metal, landing on her feet in an easy display of acrobatics. He moved and her foot slammed into his face, knocking his head into the crate and if he's lucky it would only knock him out. She didn't care about his well being, she had to figure out what the hell was going on here. Huntress looked at the car, using the shadows to move closer and her brow arched again. Did the other woman want to get taken? That seemed like a reckless plan. One wrong move and she'd be dead. Stepping closer to the car she whispered loud enough for the mercenary to hear. "This is a dumb idea. There's a better way."

At the sound of the voice, a litany of curses took up inside Rose’s head. Of course this wasn’t going to get past the contingent of birds and bats without someone taking notice. Very carefully she counted to three, stepping out of the car momentarily to greet the interloper interfering in her job. Her gaze flickered ahead, catching sight of a slumped body, and she mentally cursed a little longer. Leave it up to the gothic cheer club to mess everything up. She didn’t look at the other woman as she began to speak.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing out here? Do you have any idea how long it took to set up a scenario where I could infiltrate this fucking nightmare?” She didn’t even pause to give the other woman a chance to respond. “Months. Months of biding my time, watching these shitheads ruin lives, until I found a weak link. Then it was weeks more stalking him, waiting for the pickup to be set up. Then, when I am finally close to making my way to the training and distribution centre which _no one has been able to locate_ , you swing in and risk it all.”

Finally she turned her irate gaze on the vigilante, jaw clenched tight. Admittedly, she didn’t know much about the woman in black and purple. When dealing with the bat-spawn, she tended to prefer the company of the bird boys. Despite their tendency to proselytize, they were reliable, and used to taking orders. It was easy to swoop in, commandeer one for a few days, and then drop him when it was all over. The Huntress was unknown territory, though the Wilson girl had heard through the grapevine that she wasn’t entirely above ending someone that deserved it.

“Look, I appreciate what you are trying to do here,” Rose’s jaw ticked with the effort of trying to be civil. It wasn’t her strong suit on the best of days, and with her plans starting to fall to pieces around her, today was far from one of the better ones. “But your input and your opinions are entirely unnecessary. I’ve been planning this for long enough that I know exactly what I’m getting into. Why don’t you run on home to the big bad Daddybats and make your confessions? I hear it’s good for the soul.”

Rose moved up the street, carefully looking ahead to see if anyone on the dock had noticed the guards being taken out. Activity seemed normal, though, so she thanked whatever entity was shoving horseshoes up her ass for small miracles. Now she just had to ditch the dead weight in the mask and she could continue on with her mission. Unhindered. “This is the big leagues, girlie. This isn’t clowns and themed thugs with grudges. This is gritty reality and I think you’re probably better working from the shadows. This is about bringing some light directly into the cockroach farm.”

Helena visibly struggled with the urge to punch the woman in front of her. The condescension is so thick in the air even Dick Grayson would see it and he's usually oblivious to everything. Helena clenched her jaw, eyes narrowing dangerously as her hands formed fists around her weapon. "If you think all I'm good at dealing with is clowns and thugs you don't know jack-shit about me. This is trafficking. This is innocent people being brutalized. I'm not afraid to shed light on a few things and I'm certainly not going to step back when I can do something about it. You think by jumping in you'll be able to one-man-army your way out? They will break you like a little bitch and you'll get no where."

The dark haired girl was tired of being tossed aside. She was tired of people acting like she was just another Batkid. She cared very little about that. Her parents both were very clear about her place in this world, and she had refused to pay that any mind. "If we work together on this, we can do more damage. We can kill the roaches that need exterminating and we can expose those in power that are fueling this. You think shedding some light is going to stop this. These things go high up and I'm willing to bet that I'll have an easier time getting to them."

She'd spent hours scouring her father's notes. She knew all too well how human trafficking worked. Her father had more information about that then most after spending time in deep cover in Udon Khai. Not that she was going to just trust this random individual with all of that. "Be smart about this. If you want to burn it all down you have to do more than infiltrate and start a few fires."


	3. Chapter 3

Rose made a sound of disgust, dragging a hand through her hair, causing several long locks to drop over her face, hiding her missing eye. She was so angry that she was nearly vibrating with it. She could feel the past year’s worth of working falling away, because one spoiled little princess didn’t like being told that this wasn’t her playground. She stepped up towards the other woman, though her own meager 5’4 was hardly one to strike fear into someone as tall as Helena Wayne. It wasn’t about height, though. It was about the fact that she was a _Wilson_ , and she could lift the bitch over her head and snap her in half if she wanted, without even breaking a sweat.

Invading the other woman’s personal space, Rose was up on the balls of her feet, teeth gritted. “Listen close, princess, and try to keep your mouth shut before you prove yourself stupid. I’ve been working this job for over a year. Do you understand what that entails? A fucking _year_. This is not some fucking white knight syndrome sending me out here, this is real. I’ve seen the faces of girls I knew I couldn’t save. I had to choose to let them go, so that I could reach higher, and maybe stop the next batch. Don’t fucking tell me to be fucking smart. These guys aren’t afraid of pain or death, they’re fucking afraid of being exposed. What they value is their power and position, so that’s what you have to take away from them.”

She snarled, whirling away and picking up her katanas. She had to change her plan, since the baby bat had gone and messed up her intro. She could probably still swing this in as someone on the business end, if she played it right. Fuck but she hated cashing in on her old man’s name. “If you think that up in your ebony towers you have somehow come into more knowledge about how these fuckers work than someone raised by the fucking Terminator, then there’s no cure for your level of stupid. You fight in this world, I live in it. The stink of it follows me wherever I go. You go in there, they’re gonna smell the good on you. Me?”

She turned a dead-eye stare on the Huntress, letting the warmth and humanity leak out of her face. “Men like this welcome death when it comes walking in their door. They’ll try to use me, that’s the fucking plan, but if you think anyone can break me after I’ve been the receiver of my old man’s brand of love and affection all these years, then you aren’t ready to take the training wheels off yet. Go play with your toys and your costumed punks, come back in a few years when you’ve got more edge than attitude.”

Helena's eyes flashed, not intimidated by the woman in front of her, though she knew that Rose Wilson could probably give her a good beating, she was determined to show that she was more than a princess playing dress up. "I may not be a death machine robot, but I know what I'm doing. Where I come from is not who I am." Her fists clenched and her jaw tightened. "You think I haven't done the research? Do you think I haven't put in the time? Do you think I haven't lost friends to animals like these? I know these men. I deal with them all of the time, sniffing around parties, trying to find young stupid girls to pull into the shadows. Do what you're going to do, Rambo. I'll take care of this on my own."

She knew there was no point in trying to salvage this scene. The so-called 'Ravager' wasn't going to listen to reason and she was only going to ensure they either get killed or lost the trail. She knew how to handle this in and out of the suit. "And another thing, you can cast your bullshit judgment at me and at my so-called family, but it's not champagne and roses. I'm not them and I don't have to prove anything to you." She turned on her heels, eyes glancing up at the ledges to jump to and make a clean escape in the shadows. She knew her 'new friend' would only get in her way and she's just fine working on her own.

Rose snorted, watching the Huntress throw her hissy fit and flounce off, shaking her head. Maybe she was a death machine robot, but she knew when to keep her emotions in check in order to get the job done. All that Helena had accomplished was demonstrating how unsuited she was to the job in the eye of the Ravager. Shrugging, the white-haired assassin turned back to the scene at hand, shuffling through a thousand different plans mentally, trying to determine how she could salvage the current operation. Though she still took other jobs, she’d focused on human trafficking since the horror with Will had gone down. It had shaken something within her, given her a deeper purpose.

With her kit and weapons in place, she simply walked towards the docks, fingers twitching with the desire to wrap around the hilt of her weapons. She couldn’t, though, not if she wanted to be believable. Through the strewn bodies that the Huntress had left behind, she passed to the docks. They were quiet, the only movement the odd figure on the deck of the small ship moored at the dock. A heavily armed figure sat comfortably in a chair near the dock, machine gun trained on Ravager. She gave him an easy smile and a wave. “For me? You shouldn’t have, babe. It’s not even my birthday.”

The man rose to his feet, a towering six foot six, dwarfing Rose’s own petite proportions. “Can the chatter, bitch. I don’t know who the fuck you think you are…”

As fast as her enhanced reflexes would allow, the mercenary moved forward, taking the barrel of the gun in her hand and wrenching it from the startled man’s hands. In quick, precise movements she removed the cartridge magazine, tucking it into her back pocket before returning the gun. She knew her size and gender would put her at a disadvantage on the intimidation scale with this gorilla, but she had her own talents. “They call me The Ravager, daughter of Deathstroke, the Terminator. An organization your size can afford to hire better than the trash I just breezed through like I was taking a Sunday morning stroll. I’m better. If you pay well, I am damn near the best.”

She paused, letting the words roll around in his head. His eyes narrowed, taking her in. “You’re not very big, girlie.”

Rose let a smirk dance across her face, throwing back her hair and flipping up her eye patch. “I may not be big, but I’ve got talent, and balls. I took the eye myself as a sign of loyalty to daddy dearest. Whether or not you’ve heard about me, I know you’ve heard his name. No one in the underbelly of the world can miss his shit. Hand to hand he might be better, but I can go in under the radar. Most assholes don’t even know who I am.”


	4. Chapter 4

The Ravager was calm. Sitting cross-legged on the deck of the little ship, she would be the picture of the contented passenger, if not for the blindfold wrapped around her head, and the fact that her wrists were cuffed together behind her back. The few men remaining to pilot the ship back to whence it came gave her a wide berth, as if she were a wild animal liable to lash out at a moment’s notice. Of course, that last assumption might not be entirely inaccurate, giving the stories that trickled through the criminal underground. Though her skill set mimicked that of the oh-so-famous Deathstroke, she was more of a wild card. An element of chaos, working whichever side of the equation suited some strange set of criteria that only she could ascertain.

The thug that had allowed her aboard, a not overly intellectual character by the name of Fitz, watched her from the bridge with a wary eye. Sweat dotted his brow as he shifted uncomfortably, checking the dials and displays repeatedly. He was having second thoughts, as to his own cleverness, mostly regarding the petite female perched so comfortably on the deck. His right hand man and acting first mate, Murdoch, moved to stand beside him, a comforting hand patting his forearm. “Don’t worry, Fitz. What harm can she do, a bitty thing like that? Boss knows how to handle the feisty wee lassies that come through here, she won’t be naught but another of the same.”

Fitz raised an eyebrow at the slender, bearded man, and shook his head. “You didn’t see it, Doc. She moves like lightning and flesh made liquid. It’s as if she can read your bloody mind. Strong too. That ‘wee lassie’ lifted a full grown man over her head. I’m worried that she can break through those fucking cuffs she _let_ me strap her into. If this is some plot to get to the Boss and assassinate him, I am every kind of buggered. I don’t think there’s a damn thing we can do to stop her, and when word gets out, my ass will be the next one on the line.” The two men continued to watch through the big window, matching looks of concerned concentration on their faces.

Meanwhile, Rose was mentally calculating her options, considering a variety of scenarios that may or may not occur once the boat touched land, if it even touched land. For all she knew, they’d be transporting to a second boat. As she considered it, the idea made more and more sense. That’s how she would do it, if she were so grotesque as to traffic in human misery. Set up in international waters, a series of mobile and thus movable units. Not big ships, maybe no more than the size of the damn boat she was on now. Fast, in case they were discovered and had to move. They’d be nearly impossible to track that way. Set up a private radio channel, and everything would turn up money.

She chewed on her lip, rolling this idea around inside her head. If that was the case, and this whole operation was water-bound and infinitely mobile, she’d have to consider her attack options very carefully. Chances were, whatever ‘Boss’ figure was out on the boats wouldn’t be the ultimate brainpower behind the whole operation. It would be far too hands-on. Too risky, even with the ridiculous levels of protection and secrecy. Taking out whomever was running this part of the operation wouldn’t cut it. Wouldn’t stop the disappearances. She’d need to work her way up the chain, and not with her usual flair and style.

A small smile escaped the silver-haired woman’s lips. She far preferred threatening scum at the end of her blades for her information. Ingratiating herself to these kind of disgusting bottom-feeders wasn’t going to sit well on what was left of her morals. Chances were, however, that whomever was pulling their strings would have far more weight to throw around than she did. You couldn’t frighten confessions out of someone who was already risking this much. Their superiors would definitely have something on them. The life of someone important, deep dark secrets, the kind of things that you would die to protect. Fucking shit. Why did everyone keep trying to make her job, and her life, so fucking complicated?

Briefly she considered the Huntress, and their … contentious encounter. Now that she’d had time to think, and to let her temper cool, she could admit that this would have been easier with another set of weapons, another brain to bounce things off of. Unfortunately, Helena was about as well known for her congenial habit of working with others as Rose was. She hadn’t had time to explain to the Bat-brat the subtleties that were at play. All she could hope for now was that the heiress wasn’t going to go and ruin everything for her. If you took out too many of the peons, the important people withdrew back into their hidey-holes.

With nothing really decided, she resettled her position on the deck, tensing and releasing her shoulders in an attempt to ease some of the discomfort that came with having her wrists bound behind her back for a prolonged period of time. She wrinkled her nose, trying to scratch an itch on the blindfold, huffing a little at the minor irritations that were starting to build. When she heard footsteps drawing near on the deck, however, she would ease back into a relaxed and calm position. No sense letting the bad guys know she was uncomfortable. Sick fucks would probably get some kind of thrill out of the knowledge. She wasn’t here to give them their jollies. No. When she was done here, she would cheerfully gut every single person associated with the Harvest Association on the end of her katanas, once she recovered them from the dark haired thug that had been stupid enough to let her aboard the boat in the first place.


	5. Chapter 5

_Gotham City…_

Helena stormed into her safe house, throwing the mask across the room with enough strength to break something if it weren’t a small piece of leather. She growled in annoyance and paced for a moment. She did not inherit Daddy Dearest's perpetual calm demeanor. She was more like her mother, prone to fits and then a scary and cold calm after. Alfred always called her a storm and she understood the nickname well.

Removing the costume she stared at herself in the full-length mirror for a moment, weighing options and deciding her next move. Turning to her burner phone she pressed a few digits and brought the phone to her ear, waiting for the ringing to end and someone to answer. There was a click at the other end and a gruff, "Yeah."

"Raymond? It's Delilah. I'm dreadfully bored. Where's the party?"

"Fifth and twenty-second." There was another click and the line went dead. Helena put the phone down and tok a deep breath. Sitting down in front of a large vanity, she went to work. Carefully she applied makeup and false eyelashes, altering her face just enough to hide her true identity. Putting in contacts, her eyes became a lavender shade much like Elizabeth Taylor's. Pinning her hair to her head she pulled on a blond wig. Once everything was perfect, even she had trouble recognizing herself. She took another a deep breath. It's always strange the first time one looked in the mirror and saw someone else. Finding a bright crimson red dress, she slipped it on and stepped into stiletto heels. Playing dress up was something she did better than being a costumed vigilante. Grabbing a matching clutch, she made her way outside, hailing the first cab she saw.

Twenty minutes later the cab arrived at an inconspicuous dark brick building, a red neon light above the doorway. She knocked twice. A man opened a peephole and glanced at her. She winked at him. The door opened.

Stepping inside she felt her stomach churn at the scent of sweet cigars and expensive cologne. There were people in groups and standing against the wall, in the center of the room was a catwalk and she shuddered, knowing what it was used for. Tonight is just a party night, but she's heard about the auctions that happen behind the scenes. She has never gotten access to those nights. Here she is known as the bored heiress to an oil company from Texas. The men love to stare and the women whisper about her. She was fine with that. She was only here to get a name after all. She needed to know who was running the docks and who was setting up the sales. She may not have the prowess of The Ravager, but she had her own means of getting information. It just meant dancing with devils and hoping you escape with your soul.

_International Waters, Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean…_

Rose inwardly cursed as they pulled up beside a slightly larger vessel out in the middle of the ocean. Smart opponents were the worst. There might be some mercenaries out there that enjoyed a challenge, her father was definitely among them, but she preferred her villains dumb and easy to catch. Of course, if these guys had been dumb the whole operation would have been taken out ages ago, and she likely would never have caught the scent. It was rare she went and picked up a job for the sake of doing one, usually she was just on the receiving end of some cold hard cash with a name or a picture, but this one… There was something about human trafficking that brought out whatever remained of her altruism.

Looking pleasant was beyond her current acting capacity, so Rose settled her face into an expression of unflappable calm. It was the face she had learned under the intense training of her father. She could hold the expression against just about anything, up to and including torture. He’d tested that out too, the fucking bastard. Once more she fought to marshal her thoughts, reigning them in like an unruly batch of kittens being placed in a basket. She couldn’t afford to get distracted, not at this stage of the game. Here she was entering the most dangerous territory she may have ever been in. None of her abilities would help her if they decided to just shoot her point blank and dump her into the ocean. She had to maintain her calm. She had to be whatever it was they wanted her to be… at least for now.

Fitz and his bearded buddy came up to either side of her. “No funny business. The boss doesn’t hold kindly to being tricked, so if that’s what you were going for here, you better accept that you’re about to get right dead.” Despite the warning in his words, one that she had fully expected, the thug offered her a solicitously hand to assist her to her feet. Rose stared at it for an uncomfortably long time, debating whether to take the help, or whether this would be a good place to make it clear that she absolutely did not require it. Settling on the more placatory maneuver, she inclined her head the barest fraction and leaned into the large man’s support as she got to her feet. Best to play her cards as close to the chest as possible for as long as possible.

Sandwiched between the two gentlemen, Rose was escorted up a short gangplank onto the other ship. As soon as they were aboard, the gangplank was removed and the boat that brought them this far began to leave. This time Rose cursed out loud. “Son of a bitch, are my fucking katanas still aboard that piece of shit? I swear to fuck if you’ve left them behind I will personally remove your eyeballs and use them as fucking novelty dice hanging in my fucking windshield. Do you understand me?” She swung her gaze up to glare at Fitz, who looked deeply uncomfortable.

“Manners, dear, are everything.” The smooth voice made Rose’s spine stiffen in recognition. Immediately her face went blank. If she couldn’t project anger, she refused to project anything at all as she turned to meet the gaze of the last person she expected to see again. Mentally she bolstered her mental walls. She was not afraid. Surprised, maybe, but absolutely not afraid. What the fuck was he doing here? It wasn't possible. “Surely you could deign to address my employees with a tad more decorum, don’t you think? I assure you that your little toys will be well taken care of while we have our little tête-à-tête.”


	6. Chapter 6

_Gotham City…_

She should be used to vile men slithering around her, but the men at this party seemed to be worse than her usual bunch. For some reason, the idea of a Joker in a dark alleyway or the Scarecrow appearing in a shadowy room seem more appealing than the monsters staring at her with shark smiles and wolf-like eyes. She held a drink that she never sipped from and moved from corner to corner, listening to parts of conversations, looking for something that would give her more. She picked up keywords of auctions and prizes, something she knew meant more than glittery jewels and dusty paintings. These prizes had souls and beating hearts.

"Oh hello, darling. Aren't you something else?" A tall, dark, would-be handsome man approached her and she took a moment to see if she recognized him. The burn scar on his face reminded of her something, but at the moment she was drawing a blank. It might have been her general unease, or just the dark atmosphere of the club obscuring her vision, but she did her best to memorize the face. As she did so she gave him an artificial smile and took a step to the side to avoid being cornered, tossing the tresses of her blonde wig to disguise the movement, or at least distract from it.

"I've been told that before." She fluttered her eyelashes and pretended to sip her drink, her gaze never quite leaving his own. She didn’t want to lose track of this one.

"I haven't seen you around one of these parties before. Where are you from?" He asked, slithering closer, eyes crawling over her form. It took everything in her not to back away.

"The West Coast. Here on a shopping trip."

"Oh? What are you looking for?" He leaned against the wall, talking so close to her that she could smell the bourbon and cigarettes on his breath.

"I prefer a certain vintage. I have no use for aged spirits." She smiled, placing the glass down and crossing her arms under her chest. It was almost sad when his gaze dipped down to appreciate the view. "And you?"

"Seems we have the same tastes. Perhaps you would like to join me for a treat then?" He pulled out a card and handed it to her. She glanced it over but didn’t take in the details just yet, the epitome of a bored and spoiled rich girl, just like the Ravager had accused her of being. "Tomorrow night then? Eleven?"

"Sure thing." She smiled again, faking an amused light in her eyes. He winked and moved on to another beautiful woman and she looked at the card again, not even surprised that he wasn’t being subtle. His type never were. _The Bathory Club - 45th and Melrose_ was written in copper lettering on a slick black finish. She slipped the card into her dress and moved along the wall, vanishing into a darkened corner, intending to leave and track this new lead.

_International Waters…_

Rose managed to maintain her composure as she took in the visage of William Roades, his British accent sliding down her spine with all the appeal of a wet, clinging fungus. He was as handsome as the day she had first seen him, and significantly better than the last day. Her mind was racing, trying to figure out how he could possibly be standing on this ship, speaking. She had cut out his tongue herself… right before she drowned the bastard. She knew for a fact that he had been dead when she left him in that Canadian wasteland. There was no way he would believe she was here for anything other than causing problems. Not with their history. Not with the girls she had killed him to save standing between them like ghosts. She was right fucked.

Delight filled his expression, and he offered a hand to her, then laughed. “Of course, I suppose you cannot graciously take my hand with yours chained behind your back.” Confidence pouring off of him, he moved closer, into her personal space. Every instinct within her wanted to lash out now, but she dug out the icy control her father had beaten into her and stayed where she was, even as he brushed her cheek with his own, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “Of course, I always thought chains was a good look on you, little Rose. Reminds me of that time we spent together, before you went and got all … emotional.”

Son of a cock sucking whore. Whipping her head around, Rose grabbed his ear with her teeth, snapping the simple cuffs confining her wrists as she did so. As Will shrieked, the goons on either side tried to contain her arms, both of which were clawing towards the fucking human trafficker. He’d been the one that had sent her down this path, the reason she always took these jobs, whether they paid or not. The memories of being under his sway, her thoughts sluggish and not quite her own, curdled inside her like poison. This bastard had made her feel fear, but that had quickly turned to hatred. Hatred fueled by the unending well of rage that lived at her core.

Two more minions entered, and with the added muscle, the four thugs eventually managed to get her off their boss and to the floor, face-down with one kneeling on each of her limbs. His smooth demeanor shaken, Will swore, clutching the side of his head as he knelt in front of Rose, lifting her chin with a baby-soft hand. The bastard never had been one to work if someone else was available to do so. The silver-haired assassin smirked up at him, licking his blood from her lips. Roades glared, whatever he had been about to say dying on his lips as he released her, quick as if her very skin had burned him. He stood again, stepping back and looking down at her. Rose instead turned her attention to Fitz, promising retribution with her own single-eyed scowl.

“You may have broke free of my conditioning before, cunt, but this time I have far better resources. My new… patron has provided me with tools even you won’t be able to fight. Hear me now, little girl, you’ll pay for everything you’ve done to me, and after that, you’ll work for me like you always should have.” He walked past, pausing to boot her hard in the ribs, knocking the air from her lungs. As she gasped to regain her breath, Murdoch pressed a needle into a vein in her arm, and the whole world faded into black as she struggled against whatever it was he had injected her with.


	7. Chapter 7

_Gotham City…_

Helena’s footsteps were silent as she walked down the sidewalk. Her Delilah disguise had been placed in the book-bag slung across her back and she’d found a place to change into dark jeans, a black shirt, and a black hooded sweater. She wasn’t done for the night just yet. Too focused on her new clue, she wanted to scout this 'Bathory Club' out a bit before going there for her meeting with the scarred man. She made a mental note to look into him. Something about him was off... more than the obvious. After a few moments she turned the corner and looked up. A dark building loomed over her, the windows painted black, a few cracked. She knew she was in the right place, so she assumed, like most things, this was just a facade for the outside world. Pulling out her cellphone she pretended to be texting, but really she was taking pictures to process later. She may not have access to the BatCave, but she had her resources. Not that she wanted to bother any of her friends. She was pretty sure they are off dealing with their own issues anyway.

Besides, she was just as stubborn as Rose Wilson. She rolled her eyes hoping that the white-haired pain in the ass didn't get herself into any trouble and backed off. She sighed at the thought, knowing the other girl probably wouldn’t. Hearing the rolling of thunder overhead she continued on down the street, taking the long way to her apartment, not wanting anyone to be suspicious of the dark haired girl wandering the city at night.

_International Waters…_

The world slowly broke through her drugged state. Sounds first. The clinking of chains, the slow slap of waves against the hull of a ship, small feminine moans of fear and pain, and the murmur of masculine voices somewhere above. Rose remained limp, chained to a pole, her arms spread wide behind her, her feet shackled to the flooring. Once she was sure that none of the masculine voices were in the room, she began to test her bonds, minutely, her eye still refusing to open. The chains at her wrists and ankles were much sturdier this time, well beyond even her enhanced strength. As she moved, her shoulders screamed in protests, indicating that she had been here for… longer than was prudent.

Finally she managed to force her eye open, blinking in the nearly dark room. The only light seemed to seep into the room from under a door at the far end. Carefully looking around, she couldn’t make out much of her surroundings. The outline of shapes that vaguely resembled dog kennels to one side, and just in front of her, a single chair, bolted in place. The sounds of suffering were coming from the kennels though, and Rose was pretty sure she knew what that meant. Clearing her throat, she stage whispered in their direction. “Hello? Are you okay over there?”

A startled squeak sounded, followed by several mouths making shushing sounds. Rose was just able to make out a thin figure pressing against the front of the nearest kennel. A small voice, tremulous and full of fear, spoke quietly. “It’s best not to talk, _He_ doesn’t like it. We’ll all get in trouble.” Again a round of shushing noises, and the outline of the figure pulled further away, out of the light and the mercenary’s range of vision.

“He who? Roades? Don’t be afraid of him. I’ve killed him once, and I’ll do it again.” She hissed back towards the kennels, hoping that one of the girls would be brave enough to keep talking. She needed information, and she needed out of here. Yesterday. Rose waited, but there was no reply forthcoming from the corner. She sympathized with the frightened girls, really she did, but being afraid wasn’t going to get anyone off this boat. “Look, I’m kind of a superhero,” Tim would love to hear her describe herself as such, but the word damn near stuck in her throat, it felt like a lie. “I’m going to get us all out of here, but I need your help. Any information you have…”

The door swung open, filling the room with light bright enough it made Rose blink repeatedly to try to compensate. Will stood in the doorway, a frown across his face. Ignoring Rose, his gaze settled on the kennels, and Rose could finally see the girls. There were three kennels holding five girls. The one nearest her couldn’t be more than thirteen with dark skin and curly black hair, beside her another teen, a little older, with pin straight ginger hair and a young woman who could have been anywhere from late teens to early twenties with tanned skin and hair died an impossible shade of green, with dark black roots just beginning to show. The far kennel had… children. The girls clinging together looked identical, maybe eight years old, Rose wasn’t one hundred percent certain, but she thought they looked Korean, maybe Japanese.

She felt the rage bubbling within her, threatening to boil over. How dare that sick fuck steal children? He was still ignoring her, pacing in front of the kennels, hands on his hips. The girls all pulled as far away from him as possible, pressing against the walls, as if their kennels could protect them from the monster. “I am very disappointed in you all. Do pets talk?” Five heads shook, eyes downcast. “I didn’t think so. Our new little friend hasn’t learned the rules, but you have. Which of my pretty pets found a voice? Hmm?” Not a one of the girls spoke, not a single face lifted to meet his gaze. “If you won’t confess, I will have to punish all of you. Do you want that?”

“Hey dickwad, how about you tango with someone your own size? I always knew you were a sick fucking bastard, but here you are, glorying in it like the slime-sucking, chode-chewing snake I pegged you for. Is terrorizing babies all you’re able to manage now? I know death can set a man back a bit, but seriously, you used to think you could take _me_ on. I guess infants really are more your speed though, hmmm?” Rose watched with satisfaction as his shoulders tensed. She didn’t really care about anything at the moment except getting him the fuck away from those poor fucking kids. A satisfied smirk crossed her face as he slowly turned, rage twisting his handsome features into something as hideous as he was on the inside.

“You speak very big for someone at my complete mercy, little Rose. Perhaps it’s time for your first lesson in manners.” Rose ignored the frightened squeak from the kennels, all her focus on Will. She had a feeling that what came next was going to suck. Like, seriously suck, but that was okay. She’d take any beating he could dish out to keep the sick fuck away from the kids he had clearly already terrorized within an inch of their lives. Everything he did to her, everything he had done to them, she promised herself she would pay back. With interest.

“Bring it on, asshole. If you think you’re man enough.”


	8. Chapter 8

_Gotham City…_

Heavy rain fell from dark storm clouds and the neon lights of the city cast an eerie glow on the wet reflective surfaces. The city looked like a ghost town. The quiet of the afternoon made Helena feel uneasy. She had not slept well the night before, and the morning had passed by in a blur. She had dreamed about her grandmother and woke up in tears. She knew wading into this world of heartless darkness would eat away at parts of her soul... but she couldn't turn back even if she wanted to. Not every girl was born into a rich family that would protect her. There were girls out there being tortured and killed, and no one was looking for them, no one except for her. Well, perhaps the Ravager as well.

Clutching the red roses in her hands she returned to the waiting car, Alfred wondering why she decided to come into the city for flowers when they could have chosen from the gardens. Helena remembered reading somewhere that this particular flower shop had been her grandmother's favorite. She wanted more for her grandmother than a few flowers that were grown where she was buried.

Once home she walked through the muddy terrain, ignoring the rain that soaked her skin and approached the crypt where her grandparents' bodies rested, spending a long time staring at the names carved into the stone. More than ever she felt the weight of the Wayne name bearing down on her soul. Placing the flowers in the bronze vase, she placed her hand against the cold wet stone. "I'll finish your work, Grandmother." She quietly vowed, and then pulled away to get ready for her evening.

_International Waters…_

The only sound coming from the room was the wet crunch of flesh meeting flesh and the whimpering cries of a female. The blows rained down, over and over, unrelenting, like seconds ticking away on a clock. When they stopped, Rose raised her bloody face to meet the gaze of William Roades as he stood nursing his bloodied knuckles. He’d cut them on her cheekbone, exposed where the skin had split beneath her ruined eye. She could feel the torn flesh, the oozing blood, the flap of skin hanging off the razor sharp point where the bone had shattered, but she hadn’t made a sound. Not when the blows had started, hammering at her ribs until she could barely breathe, not when she’d felt the shards of bone burst inside her face.

He’d only beaten her face on the ruined side. She hadn’t failed to notice that, and she wondered what kind of monstrosity she appeared as, with one side of her face pristine, the other scarred and bloody. Looking into the rage filled eyes of her assailant, Rose struggled to form her lips into a lop-sided grin. “Fucking hell, Roades, if you had a thing for Harvey Dent, you could have just called him up and asked him out. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble…”

A wet crack rang out, a full handed slap across her undamaged cheek that rattled her brains and set her jaw just shy of dislocated. Funny, how that hurt more than all the punching. There was something about the feel of a man’s palm that made you feel… lesser. What he didn’t seem to understand was that she was _Rose Fucking Wilson_ and she was lesser to no man. She couldn’t be cowed, couldn’t be beaten into submission. “You think you’re so fucking tough, Roades? You’re gentler than Dad on his nice days, you fucking wimpy ass taint-licker. I’m practically falling asleep, all these little butterfly kisses brushing up against me.”

She heard the small gasp from behind him, in the kennels, and let her eye drift over to see the shining face of the girl who had spoken to her. There was awe there, which hadn’t been Rose’s intention. She wasn’t being brave, spitting in the face of the slave-trading whoremonger. She was goading him on, deliberately. She didn’t want to be anyone’s hero. She was here to do a job, to stop shit like this from happening to girls who couldn’t take it. Nothing more, nothing less. She spat on the floor near Will’s shoe, watched as his mouth curled into a disgusted sneer.

The man moved forward, catching her chin in his hand and tilting her face up to examine it. “You will learn to respect me, Rose. I am going to cleanse that attitude from you like dumping rotgut from a bottle right down the drain. Then I’m going to fill you up again with obedience, until every thought you have is simply to serve me and my purpose.” She tried to spit on him again, but his other hand constricted around her throat, stopping the muscles from obeying her. “I can see you think I am bluffing, but I am not. My compatriot will be here tonight, and I have a feeling once you see him, you’ll believe.” He squeezed her throat, tighter and tighter, as balls of blackness and bright light blurred her vision. Her lungs struggled for air, and eventually she lost her grip on consciousness, the sound of terrified crying ringing in her ears.

_Gotham City…_

Tonight 'The Bathory Club' looks like a club, the bland building with cracked windows is dressed up with scarlet curtains and red lights, a long crimson carpet extending from the sidewalk to the front door that is being guarded by two large men. Helena, in her Delilah disguise, approaches the doorway looking around at the men and women making their way inside. It's as if the Met Gala and a masquerade party merged, women in fantastical dresses and men in suits, wigs, and masks fill the area, slowly stepping inside. Helena realizes that even in her form-fitting gold dress and six-inch heels, she's still underdressed. Approaching the door she offers the man standing there the card and he points to a box of masks. Seems in order to enter she'll need to choose one. Glancing through she finds one resembling a cat's mask, black with gold accents. Amused by this she selects it, winks at the doorman and makes her way inside.

The party is in full swing, a band playing Italian renaissance sounding music and loud laughter fills the air. Helena feels like she's stepped into a movie. At the top of the stairs is a tall man in a purple and gold suit, his mask resembling a jester held over his face, but Helena recognizes the scars. The man she met the night before. Intrigued, she makes her way towards him, pushing her way through the dancing crowd. He seems to take notice of her and she catches the hint of a smirk before he beckons her to follow him.


	9. Chapter 9

_Gotham City…_

The music grew louder, clinking glasses and laughter adding to the cacophony of noises around her as Helena stepped through dancing figures and jesters juggling. A fire eater exhaled an inferno into the air and she could feel the warmth of the flames as she began to ascend the stairs. Step by step, her heart beat in time with the heavy drums. This all felt so odd. A dream-like party that belied the darkness lurking behind the jovial atmosphere. The man in purple and gold crooked his finger, beckoning her once more before he moved out of view, vanishing between writhing bodies down a corridor. Lifting her dress so she could race up the stairs, she turned in time to see a door closing at the end of the hall. Looking back at the maddening party and only seeing devils behind those masks, she rushed down the hallway feeling like Sarah following Jareth through the ball after eating the tainted peach.

She never thought it would be like this. The vigilante's life was simple. Know your enemy, destroy your enemy. This was a world she thought she had understood, and now she realized she knew nothing at all about. The music lowered the deeper into the corridor she went, and she reached for the doorknob with a hint of apprehension. Glancing around, Helena pulled a blade from a seam in her dress and turned the knob, hearing the click of the latch release. The room was dark aside from flickering candlelight from a vintage chandelier. Her eyes adjusted as she entered and she felt a rough hand grabbing her arm. She was pulled into the room and the door was slammed behind her. In less than a second, she was pushed hard against the door with a hand below her throat. She pulled her blade and, as the man pressed his body against hers to keep her against the door, she pressed the sharpened point to his Adam's apple. He had his own blade and its razor-sharp edge was lightly pressed to her own neck.

Behind his Jester's mask were glittering dark eyes, and her own eyes narrowed as they stood together, locked in a threat of death. Finally, his lips curled into a knowing smirk and he spoke, his voice low and raspier than the night before. "I see you decided to come, after all, Miss Wayne. This makes me very happy."

Helena wished she could hide the way her eyes widened in surprise. Even in the shock of hearing her real name, she did not lose grip on the knife pressed against his skin. "Who are you?" She whispered.

"A friend. I knew your father. He saved my life before you were born." He replied before gently pulling the blade from her neck.

"And yet you drew a weapon on me?" She did not relax her grip a bit, not trusting him or his words.

"He rescued my village, in Udon Kai. I'm sure you know of that, yes?" He fully pulled away from her, raising his hands and dropping the blade. It hit the wooden floor with a metallic clacking sound.

"That does not explain why you drew a knife or led me here."

"I had to be sure it was you." He pulled off the Jester's mask and revealed the burn scars to her completely. "The night the 'Batman' led our village into war with the Kingpin and his men I nearly died. He pulled me from the fire. He thought his work was done. It was not. I am here now because it is worse than ever. The ultimate evil never dies, Miss... Delilah and I need your help or what happened to my village will happen all over the world."

_International Waters…_

Rose woke to the feel of rough fabric gently brushing against bloody wounds that had begun to grow tacky as they were exposed to the air. She struggled to force her eye open. Her bright blue gaze met the startled brown eyes of the preteen with the frizzy curls who immediately stumbled back. The edge of her shirt was dark with the blood she had been mopping up from the assassin’s face. Surprised, she spoke in a frightened whisper. “I- I’m sorry. I thought you would be unconscious for ages yet. _He_ hurt you real bad, lady.”

The silver-haired mercenary let out a rusty laugh, trying to push herself into a sitting position, but groaning as the strain set her ribs on fire again. She allowed her body to return to the prone position as she regrouped. Pain was just another obstacle you had to work through until the job was done. She could marshal this too. “Yeah well, what’s the clichéd phrase? I’m not like other girls?” Another forced laugh and she forced herself all the way up this time, using her legs to push her back against the kennel wall to help keep her upright as she looked around. The dog cage was about three feet tall, the same wide, and maybe six feet deep. It should have been a tighter squeeze, but the girl was tiny enough to make Rose feel bulky, and that was a pretty hefty trick.

Craning her head to get a look at the other cages, she nodded to the green-haired girl and her ginger-haired companion, both of which angled their eyes away, avoiding contact. They had obviously been cowed harder than her kennel-mate. Dismissing them for now, she didn’t have time to make speeches about bravery, she looked for the twins, spotting them sitting quietly in the corner of their kennel, hands intertwined. Digging through the little Korean she knew, Rose gave it an attempt. “Dangsin-eun geongang hasingayo?” Two pairs of eyes so dark they were almost black widened in surprise, followed by a burst of chatter so fast she couldn’t quite follow. “I… I’m sorry girls. You’re too fast for me to understand.”

The girl on the left nodded, slowing down and repeating herself. Rose still didn’t understand everything that was said, but the general jist was they had been here only three days, and were okay, but very frightened. Running a hand over her scarred eye, she offered them a half smile. “If you’re scared it means you’re smart. Anyone would be. Even me. You just gotta be brave too, okay? Do what you’re told for now, let me fight with Roades and whomever he has coming. I can get us out of this. I promise.” Inwardly she winced. She hated making promises that she might not be able to keep. She turned to the girl locked in with her. “Best if you get as far away from me as you can in here, I’m about to cause a ruckus and I don’t want it to blow-back onto you.”


	10. Chapter 10

_Gotham City…_

With a whisper of movement, Helena placed the blade back into the hidden seam in her dress. "Do I get to know your name?" She asked, lowering her voice at the sound of giggling in the hallway.

"Kiet." He replied, retrieving the Jester's mask and placing it over his face once more. Crooking his finger he guided her towards glass balcony doors and opened them, the cool night breeze filling the room. Heavy rain fell again, soaking the city and covering the sound of their voices just a bit. She joined him in the balcony doorway and watched him curiously, reading his body and trying to figure out if she could truly trust him. At the moment, she had no other choice.

"Kiet?" She made sure she had the pronunciation correct and he nodded.

"The people here think that I am called Mongkut. They think I represent the new Kingpin of Udon Kai. I am here to peruse their selections and make choices for the Kingpin." He shuddered, a hand briefly moving towards his stomach in an obvious sign of nausea. "And what were you planning?"

"I heard whispers of human trafficking. Went to the docks to intercept a... shipment. Ran into a... complication who very well may have made herself a larger complication based on what I know about her... but I will handle that when the time comes." She was willing to share, but not dumb enough to give him information that could get that white-haired nuisance killed... if she hadn't already gotten herself killed that was. "Anyway, I've been following the threads and _you_ led me here."

"Yes. This is only the first stop. There are larger auction houses and not as... pretty... as this one is. I'm afraid to get to the meat of it, you cannot stay in America. We will have to travel abroad." Kiet paused, hearing a noise by the door. Helena's fingers slipped towards the hidden seam again. The doors burst open and an amorous couple fell into the room. Kiet grabbed Helena, pressing her against the cold and damp concrete wall of the balcony, pressing against her and tilting his head towards her neck as if they were also locked in a passionate embrace. Helena's arms move around him and she molded her body against his, playing along. The drunken couple giggled as they stood, and realizing that the room is occupied, they try to giggle quieter this time as they backed out of the room, closing the door behind them. Helena and Kiet moved apart and he sighed. "We cannot talk here. If you will agree to travel with me we will leave for Europe tomorrow afternoon. Angel's Field Airport. I have a plane ready to leave."

He offered her a card with the information. Helena's heart began racing as she realized that if she took the card and traveled with him, her life would truly be her in her own hands. No Alfred to save her. No last minute rescue from Dick or Dinah. She took the card and nodded. "I'll be there." Kiet took her hand and kissed her knuckles, that showman's smirk on his lips again.

"Shall we rejoin the party? I fear our reputations have been tarnished already." He winked, knowing their facades had now been linked and the only way to avoid further suspicion was to finish playing the game. Taking his hand, Helena became Delilah again and they made their way back towards the grand staircase to rejoin the party.

Later that night, Helena returned to her apartment smelling of cigar smoke and expensive wine. She wished she had been able to lose herself to the drink, but she never truly took a seat. Before she could pack a bag and commit to the travel she needed to research Kiet and his story about her father in Udon Kai. If she was going to be traveling with him and trusting him, she needed to know everything. Closing the apartment door the lights turned on, blinding her for a moment. As her vision cleared she gasped, her clutch hitting the ground with a thud. Standing in the center of the living room and waiting for her like the silent shadow he had always been, was the imposing figure of Bruce Wayne. Standing there as stoic as ever, he looked at his daughter dressed in one of her many disguises and simply stated, "We need to talk."

_International Waters…_

Rose had removed the shirt she was wearing, ripping it into strips and wrapping them tightly around her waist to bolster her weakened ribs. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it would be enough to help her muscle through the worst of it. She hated fighting with busted ribs, but her father had made sure she knew how to. With only the stained fabric of her sports bra to preserve her modesty, she gritted her teeth, tightening the bands further still, almost cutting off blood flow. She felt the edge of a break grinding against the other side, but once more she refused to cry out in pain. She didn’t want to scare the girls more.

Idly she wondered what the bastard had done with her scalemail. That shit was expensive, and hard to come by in this day and age. Especially in a metal both light enough not to weigh her down and strong enough to actually be protective. With a grunt, she twisted her body around so she was on her knees and shuffled to the front of the kennel, turning to assure herself that the young girl was pressed against the back. The other girls had all pressed as far away from Rose’s cage as well. Smart little things, she hoped to whatever gods might actually exist that she could help them.

With another twist, she lay down on her back, legs bent up against her body despite the pain that caused her ribs. Reaching out to brace herself against the sides of the cage, she bunched up the muscles, and then kicked both legs out as hard as she could, shaking the kennel and bowing out the metal with the force of the blow. Grunting, she shuffled herself further down, repeating the blow a second time. The metal screeched in protest, giving way a little more. Again. Shuffle forward, brace, kick. Twice more. Shuffle forward, brace kick. She could feel the materials weakening, but she was making a lot of noise.

The door swung open, and the idiotic goon Fitz barrelled in, looking around. He shook his head at Rose, who gave him her most pleasant smile. “I knew that if you rang the right bell room service would arrive. We need fresh towels in the lavatory, and I have to say, turn down service forgot the chocolate for my pillow. I’m afraid that I am going to have to leave a terrible review on Yelp for your accommodations. It’s really a pity. If only you had actually tried we could have had such a good time here, and now I’m going to have to tell all my friends to boycott based on these deplorable oversights.”

“Boss, that white-haired girl is trying to break out of the cage. She’s got it all bent out of shape.” Fitz called over his shoulder, moving further into the room. His meaty hands clenched into fists as he shook his head at Ravager. “Making jokes isn’t going to make this easier on you. He already messed you up pretty bad, girl. You’re gonna really get it when Simon arrives.”

Rose arched a brow sardonically. “Simon? Really? That’s the terrifying name that’s supposed to cow me into good behaviour? You guys need to work out some better villain titles. Like Darkseid and Sinestro, they’ve really got it figured out. Hell, even Captain Cold is scarier than _Will_ and _Simon._ Sounds like a couple middle managers bitching over dark roast blends at the local coffee shop.” Will entered behind Fitz, his face stormy with anger that melted away as Rose quipped. He threw his head back, laughing, which only served to aggravate her further. “Oh sure, _now_ you find me funny?”

“Little Rose, you should be afraid. Not _Simon. Psimon_. As in _Psimon says_.” All the colour drained from Rose’s face as she finally figured out who the bastard was talking about. Not much scared a Wilson, especially one raised… occasionally… by Deathstroke. But Psimon was the stuff of nightmares. The ghoulish gremlin with his brain showing through his massive cranium was creepy enough on the appearance scale, but the real terror was his ability. He was one of the strongest telepaths to ever grace the ranks of villainy, and the white-haired assassin wasn’t certain if even her legendary resistance and stubborn nature could fight his compulsion.

Will’s smile spread, gleeful malevolence dancing in his eyes. “Oh yes, my pet. In a few short hours, Psimon will be here, and after that you will do exactly as you’re told. I’ll finally have the tame little killer I should have gotten years ago up in that Canadian wasteland. Maybe you resisted my drugs and hypnosis, but you’ll never break free of Psimon’s control. Say goodbye to your free will, little girl.” The pair left, the click of the lock deafening in the suddenly silent room. Then a terrible sound as Rose shrieked, anger and fear roiling together as she kicked frantically at the cage. She had to get out of here. She had what, a few short hours? She had to get out of here. Had to.


	11. Chapter 11

_Gotham City…_

Bruce Wayne was silent for the duration as she slipped into her room to change, and the silence somehow felt even heavier when she returned to the living room and sat across from him. She stared at her father boldly, waiting waits for him to speak first. She missed the time when her father would look at her with love and adoration, now she saw only cold shadows. "Stop this." He finally said in his classic, ice-cold tone, "I have stood aside while you've played dress up and vigilante but it's gone on far enough. The Bathory Club? Do you even know what they do there?"

Helena opened her mouth to speak but he continued on. "They buy tourists, kill them, drain their blood in tubs, and then those vile people bathe in that blood. Do you even know how long I've been going after them? How long I've been working with Commissioner Gordon to stop them? You going there jeopardized all of that. All it took was one person recognizing you-"

"Playing dress up?" Helena laughed. "That's the bat calling the kettle black."

"You do not know what you are walking into, Helena. This is more than muggers and bank robbers. This is a darkness that will latch onto your soul and you will never be the same."

Helena stared at him for a moment. Her heart racing in pure anger, the knife he'd already thrust into her heart sinking deeper. "Do not pretend you are protecting me." Helena rose and crossed her arms, looking down at her father with frustrated tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. "This is about you and your ego. _You_ failed Udon Kai. _You_ failed Gotham. I'm just doing what I can to fix it."

Bruce rose as well, towering over his young daughter again and she wished she could feel any emotion coming off of him, but as always there was nothing. He was a cold shadow staring at her, his eyes dark voids. "If you go I cannot save you. You will be on your own."

She laughed sardonically and reached up, cupping her father's cheek. "Father, I've been on my own since I fell from grace in your eyes." Pulling her hand away she moved back and motioned to the door. "If that's all, you can leave. I have to pack a bag."

Reaching down he pulled a briefcase from the side of the chair and set it on the coffee table. "This is everything I can give you about Udon Kai. I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this for them. I left business unfinished there. If I can't stop you, at least you may be useful for them." With that, he walked towards the door, pausing for a single moment before turning to look at her again. He opened his mouth to speak, and then thought better of it. Bruce opened the door and closed it behind him, leaving her alone like always. The click of the latch was the last echoing sound before bitter silence.

Outside her father got into the car and nodded to Alfred to drive them home. As Alfred pulled away from the car, Bruce turned to the other man sitting across from him in the stretch limousine. "Take care of her. Watch out for her. If anything happens to her-"

"I assure you, Mr. Wayne. I will do my best." Kiet replied, nodding at the older man. "She is stronger than you give her credit for."

"She is too much like her mother. Impulsive." A half smirk curled Kiet's lips but he remained silent. He knew better than to anger his benefactor.

Inside Helena hurriedly packed a bag with her Huntress attire, weapons, and anything else she might need. Gathering her Delilah disguises, she then paused to look into the briefcase, seeing reports from when her father investigated the criminal networking of Udon Kai along with notable names in the Gotham underground, including a few she did not recognize. Wanting to have more time to read the information, she put it back in the briefcase, and gathering her things, left for the airfield.

Kiet smiled, seeing Helena rushing towards him and he reached to help her with her bag. "Thank you for choosing to come with me. I've received word that the timetable has been pushed up. We need to work faster. There's been heavy movement in the ranks. My guess is one of the ones in charge is traveling. Which could mean that something is about to go down."

"I received a file with names, some I know, others I do not." She looked ahead as the pilot raised his arm, waving them over.

"Perhaps I will recognize some of them as well. If you see the name 'Niran' on there, it is because he is the newest Kingpin to rise up in Udon Kai. Other than that I'm sure it's just the worldwide leaders." Boarding the small private plane, they get comfortable and she opened the briefcase again, pulling out the files. Kiet began looking them over and it was then that she noticed a small black box in the briefcase. Opening it she gasped softly, a silver chain with a single pearl pendant. She knew this pearl... or rather who it belonged to. It was the only pearl her father ever got back from his mother's necklace and she paused to envision the scene in her own mind. Pearls falling into pools of blood and the sobs of a lost child. Swallowing hard she lifted the silver chain and placed it around her neck. She did not dare to hope this meant her father cared, but rather recognizing that she, like her grandmother, is going to fight no matter the risk or threat of death for those who cannot fight for themselves. Kiet gasped softly and she looked at him, his face paling a bit as he reads the files.

"What is it?"

"There's a name here I did not think would be here. One that means we need to be even more careful."

"Who is it?"

"A very dangerous man. One who cannot be refused." Helena's confusion only grew, and he turned the page, pointing at the name. She felt a cold chill running down her spine. She had not dealt with many powered individuals, but even she knew if this... Psimon... person was involved, she was wading into territory far more dangerous than she ever imagined. She swallowed thickly and wondered if Rose was right. Maybe she was in over her head.


	12. Chapter 12

_International Waters…_

Time flew by as Rose worked at the metal with her feet. It twisted and groaned, but held solid. The other girls, even the brave one who shared her kennel, could only watch in fear and despair. The twins at the far end whispered that the white-haired girl must have gone crazy. Whatever the cages were made of, it was not the standard painted steel used for dogs back home. These had been reinforced to a degree that concerned Rose. Had they intended to capture people with abilities all along? That would certainly explain Psimon, more, it would be right up his alley.

Finally with a shriek of metal sheering, Rose managed to snap the front of the cage, right where the lock was positioned. Panting and sweating with exertion, she crawled from the kennel. It had taken more out of her than she would ever admit. She stood carefully, favoring her broken ribs, and turned to offer a hand to her fellow prisoner. “I won’t be able to break a second lock in time, but you could look for a key…”

The girl drew further away, eyes wide with fear. “They’ll kill us all. I … I’m not a hero. I’m not brave. I can’t risk it.”

Rose shook her head, her expression kinder than the vigilantes back home would believe it could be. “Being afraid doesn’t make you less brave, and not having powers doesn’t make you less of a hero. Being brave is knowing that what’s right is sometimes big and scary, but you’re the only one who can do it. Being a hero is going out and doing it. Some of the bravest and best heroes I know have no super strength. They can’t fly, they don’t have laser vision. They just know when they see something wrong, and they work as hard as they can to fix it. I won’t make you do this, but if you try, you could be a hero for these other four girls. Today.”

It was painful, watching the small, shaking form of a thirteen-year-old girl with skinned knees and knowing what she was asking of her. In a way, this one moment made her feel more like her father than anything else she had ever done. Swallowing hard, the young girl patted down her curls, wiped the nervous sweat from her dark palms, and offered Rose her hand. The one-eyed assassin gently pulled her from the wreckage and helped her to her feet. “I knew you were brave, but even more important, you proved you were kind when you took care of my injuries. Use that to help the other girls. Stay low and quiet, I have a feeling that in a few minutes there’s going to be a real big distraction.” Nodding once, the girl waited as Rose turned to the grate over the air duct. Working it free, she helped the girl up. “What’s your name?”

“Lauryn.” Her chin trembled, and Rose could see that the poor kid was shaking she was so scared. She felt awful pushing the little thing to do this big task, but she had to get to Will, and get this boat turned around before Psimon came aboard.

“I believe in you Lauryn. Be careful up there.” Nodding once the small brown form of the girl quickly vanished into the ductwork. Replacing the grate, Rose turned to the other girls. “One way or another, we are coming back for you. I promise.”

With that she walked to the door of the room, twisting the handle to break the lock and whipping it open. The thug at the door stumbled, almost falling into the room, but Rose didn’t want him to see that Lauryn wasn’t there. She dove through the opening, pulling the door shut behind her, and turned to aim a kick at his knee. He yowled as the joint bent backwards, and with a laugh Rose was off and running. She kicked open every door as she passed, checking for more prisoners, more cages, but found instead what should have been on the ship. A galley. Several well-decorated bedrooms, and one room that was way too Fifty Shades for her comfort level, particularly considering the ages of the girls she had left behind.

The stumbling goon came around the corner, and as Rose pivoted to switch direction, a second man appeared. He gave her an assessing look. “I think that room there’s for you, little bit. How’d you get out?” With a snort of laughter Rose whirled around, jamming her fingers into his throat as hard as she could, and then bringing the second around to gouge at his eye just for good measure. She felt the familiar bursting sensation, withdrawing her gore covered hand as he dropped to the ground, whimpering. Feeling vindictive, she finished him off with a quick kick to the kidney.

“Fucker.”

Her point made, Rose turned, made eye contact with the thug behind her, and then dashed towards the stairs. Hopefully they were the ones leading up to the main deck, she’d missed quite a bit of the grand tour. Up the stairs, unfortunately, was another long hall full of doors. Swearing up a storm, the mercenary flew down the hall as fast as she could, kicking doors on her way by and stirring up the residents. A few more goons, and one posh looking chap stuck their heads out, the minions falling over one another to join the chase as they realized the situation.

Another set of stairs appeared, and Rose sent up a quick prayer to fate or karma or whatever it was that watched the backs of irreverent antiheroes, and dove for the stairs. Hands grabbed for her, but she managed to beat them back, kicking at wrists and faces, and scampering the rest of the way up the stairs. The sound of the ocean and the smell of saltwater bombarded her as she reached the top, the deck of the ship spreading out at her feet. Rose let out a grateful holler, then turned to the bridge. From where she stood, there were only a few figures inside, but it was definitely the place she could cause the most chaos.

Four steps. That was as far as she made it onto the deck when a bone-chilling voice shouted “STOP.” All motion ceased. Rose. Her pursuers. Everyone. From the other side of the deck, a face had appeared at the top of a ladder, clearly dropped down to a smaller vessel alongside the ship. How had she missed that? Her eyes focused on the exposed grey matter within the dome on Psimon’s head. Terrified. Fascinated. Offering him a hand up from the deck of the ship was Roades, his pale eyes roving over her still form with clear avarice, though he too, was currently frozen in place.

Psimon’s lips curled into a malicious grin as Rose struggled, trapped in a prison that was her own body. “Very nice. You may assist me to the deck now, Roades. I would like a closer look at this… difficult cargo you seem to have acquired.”


	13. Chapter 13

_Flight to Europe…_

Helena played with the pearl around her neck, nervously staring out of the window as she realized how deeply the corruption ran. She knew human trafficking was an insidious business, and once it slithered into a city the roots took hold and the infection spread for miles, but reading the names involved and countries this particular strain of evil had infected has left her with a sour taste in her mouth. Even with everything she had seen, there was nothing that could prepare a person for this kind of depravity. "Now do you see what we are truly dealing with?" Kiet asked, placing a steaming mug of coffee in her hands.

She sat back and held the coffee mug close, hoping the warmth would stop her from shivering, though she knew she was not cold. The reports, pictures, and testimonies gifted to her from her father's archives had shown her more than she ever wanted to know about what they were facing. "How? How can people do this?" She asked, watching him as he settled down across from her again.

"These... monsters... that are masquerading as men, they do not see the women and children as victims, they do not even see them as people." He sipped the coffee, pausing for a moment. "They see them as toys. They see them as objects. Even animals. They only know their own selfish desires. You look at those pictures and see innocent children filled with unlimited potential and promise. They only see money or a treat to be consumed. They live on the darkest of sins. If there is a hell, that is where they will rot. That is what I tell myself anyway." He sipped the coffee again, closing his eyes and going silent. Helena took a sip of the dark liquid, the bitter brew oddly comforting at the moment.

"What happened to you? Did your village heal after my father took care of the Kingpin?"

"For a few years. Then what was left of the Kingpin's men returned and recruited more. Everyone has a price it seems. Even my father. When they came back to the village he sold my sisters. When I saw them again they were being placed in caskets after being... you can imagine. I swore I would be stronger than the Batman. I would avenge them. And here I am."

"I'll help you." Helena whispered. She realized now how lucky she was despite the coldness she faced from her father. She wondered again if she was truly ready for this. She wondered where Rose was, and if she was okay. Helena bit her lip, "Where are we going?"

"Belgium. There is a party... and auction. If we can infiltrate it we can gather information on where the next shipment will be taking place. I know they still use freight ships to hide what they are doing, but I have not been able to ascertain the correct location." There was something in his eyes, his knuckles whitening as his fingers tightened around the mug.

"What else will be in Belgium?"

"The Kingpin." He hissed, and she realized that they would not be leaving Belgium, or that party, as long as the Kingpin was alive. Reaching for the necklace again, she nodded. She hoped her Grandmother could forgive the blood on her hands, but those who hurt people this way were not worth the air they breathed. She was not backing down in this fight, even if it cost her own soul. She didn't even realize she had fallen asleep until Kiet shook her awake the next morning, the plane landing and his eyes shining with excitement. "Welcome to Belgium, now the real hunt begins."

She nodded, more than ever she had reached the point of no return. This was it. "When is the party?"

"Tonight. We will go to the safe house and make our plans. We do not have that much time. Let us hurry." As they stepped into the rain and walked towards the waiting car, she steeled her resolve again. Somehow she had a feeling that whatever she would see at the party tonight would not be anywhere as tame as The Bathory Club, and that scared her.

_International Waters…_

Rose fought against Psimon’s compulsion as William helped the monster to board the ship. Sweat trickled across her brow and down her back as she struggled, though her body didn’t move an inch. He looked around at the frozen tableau for a moment, pleasure in his dark eyes, before he allowed himself another cruel smile. “Gentlemen, back to your duties now.” Movement started up again, bodies that had been pursuing Rose now flowing around her as they returned to work. But not hers. She was still in the grips of the madman as he drew ever closer.

Circling her once, seeming to examine her from all sides, he returned to look her in the eye, his lip curled in judgement. Adrenaline coursed through her body, fear making her pupils wide as she tried with all her might to break his mental hold. “This one has the stink of the _Titans_ all over her, Roades. That wasn’t in your report. Did you think I would take away your little toy if you told me the truth? Answer me.”

The baleful gaze turned to her captor, and Rose got a flash. Her precognition usually helped her in situations, but this one only deepened her concern. Will turned to Psimon, his face twisted into an appeasing grimace. “She wasn’t a Titan very long, had already left them by the time I met her, and that was years ago. From what I understood, they didn’t approve of either her parentage or her methods. I doubt she still has any ties to the group.” Rage twisted Psimon’s features into something somehow more nightmarish than his exposed brain. His hand rose, squeezing, and Will began choking. Struggling for breath.

“Information about high profile acquisitions is to be provided in its entirety. Our Lord gave you new life just as he granted me my powers, and this is how you think to repay him? With secrets and lies?”

In between gasping breaths, Will fell to his knees, his own face furious as he glared up at Psimon. “She was promised to me! It was part of the compact. If you take her, my bargain with your _Master_ is broken and I am a free man. Think carefully, Telepath. You may have the powers, but I have the connections. You could not have set this all up, kept it so secret, without my help. If you wish to free your Lord, you need me, and she was my price!”

With an angry sound Psimon released Roades, who toppled over, a hand clutching his chest as his lungs struggled to regain their normal function. While his focus was split, Rose managed to regain some control of her body, inching away from the pair, back towards the ladder that the monster had used to come aboard. They spoke vaguely, as if the daughter of Slade Wilson didn’t know where Simon Jones had gained his power from. Perhaps she hadn’t been a Titan long, but she had been with them long enough, and Raven had been a team member she could relate to, though the team accepting her and not Rose had left an ashy taste in her mouth. Trigon. Even thinking the name made her shudder. She could handle guys like Roades by the handful, but Psimon and his demon patron? She was in deep water with no lifejacket.

Finished with his… underling, he turned back to the mercenary, an eyebrow raising in surprise as he took in her new position. “Stop fidgeting girl. You won’t escape now that I am here.” Like magic, her limbs stopped responding as the icy mental grasp of Psimon fell over her again. He came close, twisting a lock of her hair between his fingers as he studied the ruined side of her face, along with the bruises her struggles had earned her so far. “What a fascinating puzzle you are. Almost as hideous as I am, in your own way, but that stubborn will power. I can feel it roiling inside you. I don’t think I’ve ever had to fight so hard to keep someone under my sway before. I do so like a challenge.”

He released her hair, stepping past Will. “Come along, pet. You and I need some time to get acquainted while my… esteemed colleague runs off to cry to Daddy. That was your plan, was it not, Roades? To contact our patron and lodge your complaints formally?”

Regaining his feet, Will glared daggers at Psimon. “We shall see who has his ear when I’m done. All your powers, and you couldn’t hand him the one thing he asked of you, whereas I have supplied him with a steady stream of souls and suffering. You may be top dog right now, Psimon, but things are changing, and I have sharp teeth.” His gaze settled on Rose, anger, fear, covetousness, they were all clear in his eyes. “I will get what is due me. Make no mistake about that.”


	14. Chapter 14

_Belgium…_

The rain had turned into a mist that lay heavily in the air, like a thick fog that turned the streetlamp lights into spectral blue orbs. If Helena closed her eyes she could almost imagine that they were in a horse and carriage on their way to a ball. They way they were dressed was more like what she had seen on the cover of Historical Romance novels or period dramas on the BBC. Once again they were Delilah and Mongkut. They wore their facades easily, both well versed in forgetting who they really were. They had spent the day preparing, looking over schematics to the manor and learning the faces of the highest bidders. They knew their roles and they knew who their targets were. She knew Niran's face and Kiet had warned her of his... charms. She knew what she must do.

Dressed in a red silk and black satin ball gown, she felt like something out of a gothic Disney movie. Red silk gloves to match, her blonde wig styled high, complete with a jeweled tiara on top of her head. She almost felt absurd, but Kiet was just as overdressed, minus the tiara of course, but the same color scheme as her dress. She was sure they were both armed as much as one could be going into the lion's den. The black SUV slid up alongside the curb of the manor and Helena took a second to look over the lavish mansion. A long blue velvet carpet had been laid out on the walkway leading to the front door and blue and gold lanterns lit the way inside. "Are you ready?" Kiet asked, and Helena noded.

Kiet opened the door and stepped out, holding his hand for her. Carefully they walked along the carpet, holding up their invitations to be let inside. She could hear the strains of Mozart being played inside the manor. Elaborate candelabras and chandeliers were the only light inside other than the odd blue lantern, and Helena wondered what the colors meant for these parties. She assumed there was a reason, but now was not the time to ask.

"Mongkut! Is that you?" A feminine voice rang out from down the hallway, and they paused as an older woman approached them. To Helena, she looked like something out of an old English painting. Her face was frosted white but had painted crimson cheeks, and on her head was an enormous powdered wig. Her dress was white and red and it hit Helena that she looked remarkably like the Queen of Hearts from Alice in Wonderland. "Mary Elizabeth! You are so lovely tonight!" Kiet released Helena's arm to greet the woman, air-kissing her cheeks.

"You shameless flirt." The woman giggled, and then cocked an eyebrow seeing that he was with a woman. "And who is this?"

"This is Delilah, my betrothed." He replied, stepping back to take Helena's hand.

Helena smiled pleasantly at the woman, bowing her head slightly. "It is a pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

"You may call me Mary Elizabeth, Delilah. Any friend of Mongkut's is a friend of mine." The woman extended a hand and Helena took it, brightening her smile.

"You are so kind. This is a lovely party."

"Oh thank you, child. The real fun hasn't even started yet. Mongkut darling, I have your favorite tonight." She winked at Kiet, and Helena felt his fingers tighten slightly around her hand.

"Do you?" He asked, keeping his smile firmly in place.

"I'll show you later." She teased him with a playful tone, Helena wondered what she meant, and was sure she did not want to know. Mary Elizabeth continued, "Niran is here. He is in the viewing room. I'm sure he'll be so happy to see you."

"Yes. I look forward to seeing him as well." Kiet kept his tone cool as Mary Elizabeth saw another guest arriving behind them. Without a word, she rushed off to greet them. Helena pulled Kiet down the hallway.

"Are you alright?" She whispered.

"We must hurry. If Niran sees me, he'll know I killed the true Mongkut and took his place." He replied, pulling her into the ballroom. The ballroom was full of other overly dressed individuals, all resembling something out of a 1700's drama. As she looked around, Helena noticed all of the staff were very young girls, all made up to look like dolls. Her mouth went dry and her heart sunk into her stomach. They could not be any older than ten, and they were being paraded around in low cut ball gowns, with more makeup than any stage actor. Their hair brushed until it shone almost synthetically. Their eyes were all... hollow. There was no light there. They were all moving around like automatons, even their voices were empty. Kiet squeezed her arm and pulled her along the wall. "We cannot help them right now." He whispered to her.

There was a band to the right of the room and to the left was another large stage. Sitting on the stage were more young boys and girls, dressed up and made up to look like dolls. All with blank expressions and empty eyes. Seeing something hanging off of one of their necks, Helena wandered over and looked closer. She gasped. A price tag. She refrained from covering her mouth with her hand in horror, just barely. Again, Kiet pulled her away and to a quiet corner. "I know." He told her. "I know."

Her hands went to his chest and she held back a sob, her eyes becoming glassy with unshed tears. "Stop. Focus. We can save them and others, but you need to hold it together." Slowly Helena nodded and pulled herself together. Every time she lost it, all it did was prove that Rose was right. There were low applause that spread through the audience suddenly as a man entered the ballroom wearing expensive silks and covered in gold jewelry. Kiet pulled Helena further behind the crowd and he hissed, "Niran."

Helena swallowed hard, gathering her nerve again and nodding. It was time. A new song began to play from the band, something slow and seductive. Stepping away from Kiet she began a slow walk towards Niran, her eyes sparkling with feigned desire and he noticed her immediately. She held out a hand to the Kingpin and he laughed, enjoying her assertiveness. He took her hand and pulled her in close. He smelled of spices and patchouli and her stomach turned as they began to dance. "I have never seen you before." He whispered, breathy into her ear, and she hid her shudder behind feigning attraction.

"You see me now." She replied, leaning into him as they danced. Her eyes locked on Kiet's for a moment as they turned, in a silent pleading for him to not leave her alone with Niran and then the room spun again as they dance.

"Yes. And I hope to see more very soon." His whisper slithered down her spine, sending another shudder of repulsion through her body.

"Oh, darling, you shall. Very... very soon."


	15. Chapter 15

_International Waters…_

Woodenly Rose followed Psimon below deck, counting each stair as a failure. They eventually arrived at a lavishly appointed cabin, and she knew that she did not want to enter. Whatever happened within that room, she would not be the same person when she came out again. That was certain. Inside her head she was screaming. Fear and rage battered against the invisible walls that somehow kept her from controlling her own body. The villain relaxed comfortably across a plush sofa, and then nodded to a spot on the ground near his feet with a smirk.

“Kneel there, girl. I have a few questions to ask you.” She was a Wilson, not some psychopath’s pet, to crouch near his feet and spill her story. She struggled against every step, crossing the room at a snail’s pace as Psimon looked on, a frown of concentration marring his face. Though she gave everything she had to resisting him, eventually she settled on the ground, kneeling like the pet he wished to make of her. Rose’s face was contorted into a hate-filled scowl as she looked up at the man. “Tut tut, none of that now. Give us a smile, that’s a good girl.” The corners of her lips twisted up into a pained grimace, and Psimon’s frown deepened. “Like you mean it, girl. I am losing my patience.”

Rose could count on her hands the number of times she had smiled ‘like she meant’ it in recent memory. They were treasured moments, stolen from the harshness of her life. He could twist and contort her body into whatever shape he wanted with his mind control, but she couldn’t give him this. It would break something in her. He leaned over her, taking her chin in his hand and tilting it up so that she had to look directly into his eyes. She could feel the pressure, not just from his hand, but from his mind pressing against whatever it was that made her who she was. She just kept glaring at him, that mockery of a smile on her face.

Disgusted he released her, his hand swinging back around to knock her over with a vicious backhand. When she moved to get up, he halted her with a harsh order. “No. You can stay there until you learn your place.” He laughed, and the sound trailed over her skin like a thousand unwanted hands. “I suppose asking you to smile was too difficult a task yet. No worries, over time following my orders will become easier for you. Every time my voice bends you to my will, I lay a framework of obedience into your psyche, until it is all but second nature to do as you are told.”

She tried not to listen to Psimon’s dark promises, otherwise the fear might overwhelm her. Instead she focused on the plush feel of the rich carpet beneath her hands where they were holding her chest off the floor in a kind of sprawling half push-up, and she could feel the tension in her muscles. She was strong, and could hold this position for awhile, but not forever. The pulsing in her cheek tore her attention away from the carpet for a moment, and she probed the side of her mouth with her tongue. No skin was split. Despite the ferocity of the blow, the strength of it lacked what it took to really damage her. The smile twisting her face settled into something more akin to a smirk.

He was weak, and that was something she could take advantage of, once she managed to shake free of his compulsion. He hadn’t been able to force a real smile out of her, so his power obviously had limits. She just had to be patient, wait for the right moment. Outside the door heavy boots fell quickly, like a group of men were running, and Rose remembered Lauryn, wandering through the ducts. Mentally she berated herself for encouraging the girl to take such a risk. If she had known the devil was this close, she might have rethought her plan. A soft knock sounded at the door.

“Enter.” Psimon was irate, and Rose knew that she was at least partly responsible for that state. It would be more satisfying if she wasn’t worried about the fate of the young girl she’d helped into the duct-work.

“Sir. Another one of the girls is missing, the little black one with the ‘fro. We’re sweeping all the decks now.”

Psimon’s gaze swung from the thug to the white-haired assassin at his feet. “Where’s the girl?”

Rose glared at the floor, glad at least that she could answer this one honestly. “I don’t know.”

“How did she get out?”

“They put us in the same holding cage. I broke it. Told her to run.” She could take the blame. Would gladly do so. “She was afraid, didn’t want to take the risk, but I encouraged her. Pushed her into it. Told her she could be a hero.” She was regretting it now. A lot. Lauryn had been terrified of the consequences her actions would bring down, and apparently she had been right. Rose Wilson hadn’t been enough of a hero to save the day this time.

“When she is caught, and she will be caught, you will witness her punishment. Perhaps then you will understand how futile your struggles are. All of you are little toys for the amusement of our Master, and those he wishes to draw into his circle. If a few get broken in the process, that’s simply an acceptable business loss. Do you understand?” Rose glared at his shoes, so near her face as he went on his little rant. Instead of answering, she sent up another useless prayer to the universe that maybe, just maybe, Lauryn was smart enough to get away. “I asked you a question, Rose.”

“I understand that you are a pompous, self important shit stain whose ties to someone of actual power make you think that you’re some kind of god among men, when really all you are is a creepy pervert with an alarming fixation on control that probably stems from a sexual desire for your mother.” With more effort than she cared to admit to, Rose tilted her face up to look at Psimon’s furious visage. “Also, there’s a hole in your left shoe, so we can add both cheap and tacky to your list of faults.” The villain leapt to his feet, and the offending piece of footwear flew at Rose’s temple. She felt the crack of it connecting, and then the second blow, and the third. Finally the world faded to black, as Psimon screeched obscenities at her. Her last thought before she lost consciousness, was that she would consider this one a win.


	16. Chapter 16

_Belgium…_

The room spun faster around them, but to Helena, each twirl and spin was in dizzying slow motion. The music sounded muted compared to her own steady heartbeat pounding in her ears. Once her vision lost Kiet's eyes, she had tunnel vision on the man in front of her. She wondered how many innocent children had been bought and sold by him. She wondered how much blood his hands had spilled. Even though these thoughts plague her mind, an alluring smile remained on her lips. She was prepared to play her character through to the very end. "Sweet Delilah, you are quite the stunning creature. Did you come alone?" Niran asked in his thick accent, one that she could tell he was trying to twist into a seductive tone. She batted her eyelashes, pretending to be surprised by his forward flirting.

"I did arrive with someone, but he means nothing to me. Truth be told, I came here for you."

"Oh, did you?" He asked, clearly pleased that she had sought him out.

"I’ve heard so much about you. The whispers do not do you justice at all. I find I am quite breathless now that I am here with you. It is rather forward of me, I know, but I had to find a way to get into your arms one way or another." She smirked, playing it off as playful and perhaps a bit desperate, knowing he liked his ego stroked, among other things.

"And here you are." He whispered into her ear again, his hot breath creeping along her neck. "Would you like to come with me?"

She pulled back to look into his eyes, a chill settling about her while all she showed to him was an infatuated woman nearly begging to be taken. "Yes."

His arm slipped around her waist and in one last twirl, he pulled her away from the dance floor and toward a back hallway. She did not even have a moment to try and find Kiet's eyes, Niran was focused on getting her away from everyone. She knew what she must do. She was not afraid. She wanted this. In order to discover the main plan and the shipment details, they needed to interrogate a high ranking member of the enterprise. As soon as they were in the hallway the false light left her eyes and her face became cold and impassive. He was ahead of her and pulling her hand towards a private room at the end of the hall. He could not see that she had ceased being Delilah. She was Helena Wayne. She was the Huntress.

His excited hands fumbled with the door latch for a moment before he turned the knob and rushed inside. She closed the door behind them and, before he could press his body against hers, she pulled a hairpin from the wig and stabbed it into his neck. The fast-acting tranquilizer moved through his system, and she watched with an amused look as he fell to his knees and then slumped to the floor. Quickly she bound his wrists and ankles with cords before propping him against the bed. She waited a few moments, and his eyelids fluttered lazily. His vision focused on her and he opened his mouth to shout. As his mouth opened she thrust a gag between his teeth, muffling his cries.

"I have a feeling that your men are used to you pulling beautiful women into this room for various sexual acts both consensual and non-consensual. If they hear muffled moans or cries, they will only think that their boss is getting what he wants. And if you are foolish enough to alert them to anything else, I will cut your balls off and shove them down your throat before they can even get into the room." From a seam in her dress, she pulled a long dagger, its blade resembling that of a straight razor and she held it so the light glinted off of the blade. "Be smart, Niran. You can live through this. I just need information. Keep your voice down."

She pulled the gag from his mouth and he hissed in anger. "Bloody fool. When I get out of this I am going to flay the flesh from your bones." He growled, though he kept his voice down, his eyes locked on the blade between her fingers.

"We know there is a shipment arriving soon. Women and children. Where? When?"

Niran looked at her for a moment before chuckling. "You are a bloody fool aren't you? What? Do you reckon yourself to be a 'hero'? Are you going to save the day, Super Girl?" He chuckled again, "Even if I did tell you, there is nothing you can do. The shipments are being guarded by forces stronger than mine."

"Keep talking. I want to know everything." She lowered the blade, pressing it into the cloth covering his groin. He made a slight whimpering noise and tried to back away from the blade, but was unable to.

"I don't know _where_. I was never told which port to expect them in. They are in international waters last I heard. I am not told these things. I am not within the main circle. My men are used as grunts. They use me for my connections and money. Udon Kai is still fighting to get back into the standing we once had. The last time a... 'hero' came through my lands he destroyed everything." He rolled his eyes. "You fools. Do you really think you can stop anything? Knock one of us off and another takes our place. There are more of us than there are of you after all."

"Somehow I doubt that," Helena replied. "What do you know about Psimon?"

Niran's face paled suddenly and he shrunk further into himself, no longer scared of the blade pressed against his genitals. He shook his head. "Do not even speak his name."

"Why?"

"You think what you have seen so far is horrible? The real nightmares begin with him. I will say nothing more." Niran's eyes were wide and she could see his fear was genuine.

The bedroom door swung open and Helena looked up to see one of his bodyguards entering the room. The bodyguard froze seeing the way his boss was bound and then reached inside of his coat. Helena raced towards him, pulling him into the room and slamming the door again. She pushed the man against the wall and grabbed his wrist pulling it from the coat. He tried to better grip the pistol he'd retrieved from the shoulder holster and she dodged, getting in line with the barrel. She maneuvered her body into his, using her leverage to snap his elbow the wrong way and the gun hit the floor with a hard thud. She spun again to face him while using the momentum to thrust the blade into his torso.

He moved enough to avoid a fatal wound, the dagger entering his shoulder. As she pulled it out he grabbed a gun from another shoulder holster with his good arm. He didn’t take aim, just fired the gun. She felt the impact of something hitting her arm but ignored it to charge him again. Their bodies connected and he lost his footing. She landed on top of him as they hit the floor and she barely managed to smack the gun out of his hand. In desperation, she brought the dagger down again. He dodged again but this time it killed him. He turned his neck as she brought the blade to his flesh and the razor-sharp weapon slashed his carotid artery open. Immediately she was splashed with blood as his racing heart pumped out his life force in fast spurts.

She heard a sound at the door and she rose again with her blade, ready for anything. Kiet stepped into the room and his eyes widened seeing her standing there covered in the crimson gore. He looked down at Niran and before he could speak Niran began screaming for help. Kiet kicked the man hard in the temple with the heel of his dress shoe and then grabbed Helena's arm. "We have to go."

He rushed to the window and opened it quickly, climbing out and reaching for her. She blinked, nodding numbly as she looked down at her sticky blood covered hands. "We have to go." He repeated and she nodded, running to him this time so they could escape into the night as the sound of others rushing into the room clattered behind them.


	17. Chapter 17

_International Waters…_

Rose was just about done waking up with a pounding headache and a plethora of new bruises and broken bones. She remained limp, listening to her surroundings first. She could hear water against the side of the ship. A male voice somewhere down the hall. Below her, a female crying. The only breath inside the room seemed to be her own, so she carefully opened her eye a crack. A quick sweep of the room made it clear she was, in fact, alone for now so she gave herself time to thoroughly assess her situation. She was in a pile on the ground, as if someone had dropped her there. Around her neck was a heavy metal collar, attached by a thick chain to the floor. Her hands and feet were unencumbered, which made her smile. Idiots. From the feel of things she had another broken rib, and maybe a cheekbone, along with several fingers on her left hand.

The room was not the one she had been in when Psimon had lost his temper. This one was more utilitarian, smaller. She recognized the scent of Roades’ cheap cologne hanging in the air and grimaced. If the bastard thought she would be grateful that he ‘rescued’ her from the mind-controlling monster, he was going to be greatly disappointed. With painfully slow movements, she pushed herself up onto all fours, and then into a kneeling but upright position, which was as far as the chain would allow her, going taut and causing the metal of the collar to abrade the back of her neck. She scowled at the chain, examining the anchor point where it met the floor. The metal was heavy and well constructed, but if they thought for a minute that she couldn’t crack wood with her heels, no matter how injured they were, then these assholes were in for a surprise.

Just then a clicking of the lock sounded and Will swung open the door, stalking across the room with barely contained violence in every tense muscle of his form. Grabbing just below the collar, he dragged Rose closer to him, his face inches from her own. “This isn’t funny anymore. Where’d that little black bitch go? She was a custom fucking order. If we don’t deliver, there will be consequences and I will take every one of them out on your hide.”

Rose gave the man the sweetest smile she could manage with her mangled face, and then snapped her face foreword, cracking her forehead against his own. He released her, stumbling back as he clasped a hand to his injured cranium. Setting out to irritate him further, Rose settled herself back on the floor as if she was perfectly comfortable and had all the time in the world, draping the chain over her shoulder. “Honestly, Roades. A man with your experience should be able to exert some kind of control in a crisis situation. Between you and Psimon, you’d think that the kind of retribution Trigon doles out for unsatisfactory service would be pretty clear.” She looked out at him from under a sheet of tangled white hair. “I hope I get to watch.”

He stalked away from her, back towards the door, making sure he stayed beyond the reach of the chain this time. He had let the fact that she was chained convince him that she was somehow less dangerous. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. At least not right away. Rose arched an eyebrow at him as he went to the door. “Oh yes. Please do send in the other monster. At least his outsides match his insides. I much prefer when the bad guys advertise what they are.” Roades growled out something that might have passed for words, but she couldn’t make them out, and stomped from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Patiently she waited. Counted to one thousand. And then again. Once she was sure that she was to be left alone for awhile, she moved swiftly. Pulling the chain taut she used it to balance herself parallel to the floor. With as much force as she could muster she brought her heel down against a seam in the wooden planks that made up the floor. A second hit. A third. A long crack began to form in the wood, spreading along, past a knot in the plank, and then branching around the bolts that held her chain in place. One last kick and Rose went rolling, ass over teakettle, popping up onto her feet, chain in hand. Now she was not only free, but armed. Seriously. Idiots.

The door lock clicked and swung open again, two thugs filling the space as Rose tossed them a malicious smirk. Tossing the chunk of wood and metal bolts that had held her to the floor from hand to hand, she cocked her head to the side. “Well, which one of you big strong men are going to come here and put the little female back in her place first?”

The man on the left lunged forward, and Rose dove to meet him, swinging out with her makeshift weapon. It swung over his head, but Rose kept spinning, moving back out of his reach and bringing the chain back around to crash it’s hung of wood into the back of the man’s neck, sending him stumbling forward. One foot forward she halted her momentum, then pivoted, swinging the chain the other way to hit the second man.

Smarter than his compatriot, the second man stepped forward, grasping the chain with his meaty paws. Hand over hand he reeled Rose in with the chain, but she didn’t resist. Instead as he pulled her into range her smile widened, and before the asshole figured out what the error he made actually was, she flung herself bodily at him, using her momentum to fuel her jump, and his grip on the chain to control her trajectory. She swung around his side, the chain taut, driving her heels into his kidney as she went. He stumbled, dropping the chain, and she flipped over, yanking it faster than he could reclaim his grip. Standing behind him now, chain in hand, she watched the second man struggle to his feet. Blowing them a saucy kiss, she whirled around and dashed through the door, slamming it closed behind her. Seeing the key in the lock, she laughed, turning it and dropping it down her top.

Chain in hand she moved down the hall as quietly as she could, the sounds of the two thugs bashing against the door behind her twisting her lips into a sardonic smirk. No matter how many times some asshole fell for that trick, she always felt a bit of glee. Like Bugs Bunny outsmarting the woefully outmatched Elmer Fudd. Perhaps it was poor form to gloat over a victory against a clearly intellectually inferior foe, but since they were back there working for demons and monsters and the kind of sick fucks who felt that selling other humans was the best path to a quick buck, she was just going to take her win and run with it.

Slinking up the stairs she poked her head above deck, taking in the lay of the land. Most of the bastards seemed to be at work, very few bodies on the deck. Turning towards the bridge, she could make out a pair of forms there, the glassy dome of Psimon’s head catching the light just before she ducked back down. Calculating the odds of getting to the dinghies before he wrapped that twisted brain around her willpower, Rose grimaced. The odds were certainly not in her favour on that one. She chewed her lip, contemplating her other options. She could go down, free the other girls and sink the fucking ship. They’d have to evacuate, might even manage to get the kids away under the guise of all that chaos.

Without many other options on the table, Rose was decided. She paused a moment to slip inside an empty room and look for a secondary weapon. Nothing. The next several rooms also gave up a big pile of zilch. Growling under her breath she accepted that it was just her and the old chain, she moved back down the hall in time to see the thugs break through the door and go crashing across the floor. In a heartbeat she was on top of the nearest, letting the chain hang free she placed a delicate hand on either side of his head and yanked with all her strength, snapping the spine with a satisfying cracking sound.

Jumping free, she was yanked back by the second guy repeating his earlier error of grabbing the chain. He didn’t reel her in this time, but his fate was already sealed. Pivoting on her heel she hit him with a quick series of kicks, one to the knee, the groin, solar plexus, and then two quick snaps to the bridge of his nose, driving the cartilage up into his prefrontal lobe. With a grimace she wiped the blood off her heel and onto the carpet, then climbed over the two bodies and moved further on down the hall, the whites of the first man’s eyes showing as he lay, paralyzed, with his companion’s dead body over top him, oozing blood from its ruined face.


	18. Chapter 18

_Belgium…_

Helena and Kiet stumbled through the darkness, finding a small alleyway to hide in for a moment. Once tucked away, Kiet turned his attention to a boarded-up doorway. With an impressive show of strength, he slammed his shoulder into the thick board, shattering it instantly. He grabbed the doorknob and forced it to turn, opening the door and listening. Hearing nothing inside, he reached for Helena and helped her inside. Dusty sheets covered old furniture, the shapes distinct enough to assume that this was an office of some kind. Based on the look of it all, no one has been inside for a very long time. He sat Helena down on a couch, and with only the dim streetlamp light giving him the ability to see, he managed to find a chipped basin of some kind. He opened another door and found a washroom. Surprisingly, the water still ran when he tried the sink, and he filled the basin with the cold liquid. Returning to Helena, he used the sheets to begin cleaning the blood from her face and neck. Helena was silent, frozen where she had been seated. She'd killed before, but there was something different about this. Perhaps it was everything she'd seen since she had begun this nightmare of an adventure, but her mind could not comprehend it all. She blinked once, her eyes hollow and wandering.

Kiet sighed. "I warned you, Helena. I told you what we were facing. When they call it the ultimate evil, it is not a lie. These people, they are monsters in human flesh. They do not see these children as children, they seem them as toys and treats. What you saw at the party is tame to what others do to them."

"Father was right. Rose was right. I wasn't ready." She whispered, agony making her throat thick. Kiet dipped the cloth into the basin again, the once clear water now stained pink. Helena stared at that for a moment. The bloodied water rippling on the surface of the overly cheery floral pattern at the bottom of the basin.

"No one is ready the first time they see the truth." He cleaned the blood from her shoulder and arm. "If you were ready, you would be nearly as cold as them. This is suffering at its most primal level." He realized every time he wiped the blood from her arm it ran down again, and he lifted the material away from her shoulder, suddenly swearing to himself. "You were hit." He reached into his pocket and pulled out folded leather. Unraveling it, she saw tools of some kind, but her mind was still too numb to process it all. "I have to remove the bullet and stitch this up. Try not to scream."

A slow blink was his only response.

Taking a breath, he began to probe the wound looking for the bullet. The pain was intense and Helena shuddered, clenching her jaw. The pain finally had pierced through her mind and body, giving her clarity again, penetrating the shock that had settled over her. She did not cry out, only emitting a soft gasp as he reached into the wound with metal tweezers, grasping the bullet and pulling it out of her body. The bullet was placed next to her and she collected it in her hand, holding tightly onto the warm metal, still warm from being inside her arm. Kiet did not warn her as he began sewing the wound closed, and she blinked again, the pain shooting through her once more. She watched him absently, as if she wasn’t quite there, as if it was someone else’s arm he was stitching. After a moment, she did not feel it at all. She separated the pain from herself. She knew what she needed to do now. She had ruined their plans. "We have to kill him." She said softly, life returning to her vacant eyes. "Niran has to die. I won't fail again."

"He knows your face. We have to attack from the shadows." Kiet finished sewing up her arm and Helena nodded.

"He won't see me coming this time." Kiet isn't so sure this was the right plan, but he also knew Niran needed to fall first in order to bring the rest of the organization down. "That woman. Mary Elizabeth. Who is she?" Helena asked, looking at her arm and where he had placed his stitches. They were neat and even, almost professionally so. He had clearly done this before, perhaps many times.

"They call her the Queen of Hearts. She is a broker and a collector."

"Niran dies first and then we take care of her." Helena slowly stood up, testing herself. The first few moments she felt dizzy, waiting for it to pass before she spoke again. "We have to get back to the hotel, we'll change and we'll find Niran. This time I will not be as stupid about him." Kiet could only nod. He grabbed the last sheet and arranged it as a makeshift shawl around her shoulders. Her dress still showed bloodstains and he'd rather them not get stopped for this.

It took longer than they would like to get back to the hotel and both clean up before Helena donned her gear and became the Huntress. Kiet dressed in all black and looked her over. "You are a lot like your father, but I appreciate that you are not a bat like him."

"I prefer my mother's approach to style." Helena dryly replied, making sure she had enough room for extra bolts for her small hand crossbow. Just in case, she wanted to bring more. Somewhere she could hear her father's judgmental voice telling her that killing is against the rules. She was not her father though. The only way to ensure this never happened again was to kill the source. This was what she was going to do. Dressed, prepared and ready, she turned to Kiet. "Are you ready?" He nodded and she took a deep breath.

"Let's go."


	19. Chapter 19

_International Waters…_

Once clear of the goons, Rose ran. She ran as if the fate of those girls below was resting on her shoulders, because, in more ways than one, it was. Flying around the corner and down to the lower deck, she pinballed right into another towering slab of aggressive meathead. Growling she bunched her fists together at the base of the wood and metal chunk dangling from her chain, she swung at the man’s solar plexus, hearing the air escape him in a satisfying ‘oof’. Moving in close, since she was small and he was large, she drove the heel of her foot into his knee, feeling it give a little as he dropped to the ground. She bounced around him, driving her foot into his knee again as he struggled to rise, watching in satisfaction as the limb bent at an unnatural language and he released a guttural cry of pain. Sidestepping up his body, she brought her heel down again, once against his temple, and then repeating the maneuver aiming at the back of his neck, stomping until she once again heard that satisfying cracking noise and he stopped vocalizing.

One more guard out of the picture. How many could they really have on this fucking tugboat? Shaking off the thought, she moved to the door to the room that held the girls’ cages. One hand on the handle, she felt a moment of panic shoot through her, tamping it down hard. She was not afraid. Instead she summoned her anger, let it settle around her shoulders like a familiar coat on a cold day. Emotions back where they belonged, she pushed into the room. The four remaining girls knelt quietly in their kennels, heads down and hands clasped over their thighs. Rose moved forward, calling out, but they didn’t respond. “Hey, psst. Come on. We’ve gotta get you out, I’m gonna sink this shit.”

Still there was no response, and the mercenary felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise up in concern. With no key, her options of getting into the cages were minimal. Threading her chain between the bars, she twisted, forcing them together through strength and … some kind of math or science. Physics? Engineering? What the fuck did she know, all that mattered was it worked. Bending a second set the same way, she squeezed through the gap and knelt in front of the pretty redhead. “Come on, there’s no time to be…” She shook her shoulders, and the face turned to her.

With a gasp the silver-haired young woman released the girl, backing away slowly. There was… nothing left behind her eyes. She was empty, unresponsive as a doll. She felt her own limbs tremble as she stood, looking in horror as the girl rearranged herself into the kneeling position once more, a good little puppet returning to her pose. Rose raised a trembling hand to cover her mouth, not sure if she wanted to vomit or cry. It was worse than any horror movie she had ever seen. She hoped fervently that Lauryn had gotten away. The plucky girl barely into her teens deserved better than this.

Turning her back on the young women and the little girls, Rose gasped for breath, arms wrapped around herself as she fought against the rising panic. That’s what Will wanted Psimon to do to her. Erase her and keep her body as his own personal marionette. She tried to summon her anger, but the fear fought her for control. Closing her eye she counted to ten. Focused completely on each number. She did it again in Cantonese. Khmer. French. Greek. Cyrillic. Final she had her breathing under control, and that comforting burn of hatred started to pool in the pit of her stomach. She grasped at it, drawing it up through her like wool on a distaff. Tightening the hot threads of rage, she spun them around herself like a protective cocoon. No one was taking her mind from her. She’d kill herself and everyone on this ship first.

Rose pivoted and walked out of the room, not sparing another look at the empty girls. They deserved better, but she had nothing to give them, and couldn’t risk allowing the panic to rise again. She had a job to do, and none of that included a mental breakdown. She’d seen human trafficking before. She knew what Psimon was capable of. She was stronger than this. When Rose had told Helena that she wasn’t ready for this kind of thing, this was the type of stuff she was talking about. She was a Wilson, though. Hardened to the grotesquerie of the world. More than that, she was a Worth. She knew exactly what happened when men felt they owned a woman’s body.

With new purpose she moved deeper into the ship. It took her several tries, but she managed to find the engine room. The steady chug of the motors was enough to draw her forward. As quietly as she could, she entered the room, her chain held close against her body to keep it from clinking. At the back of the chamber she could see three figures, though none of them were working. Instead they were sitting around a table, a small radio sitting in the centre. Listening for a second, Rose deciphered the rapid-paced Spanish. A soccer game. Casting a glance around, she located several heavy metal tools, and smiled.

She wrapped the chain around her middle, looping the ends around her waist until it was somewhere between a belt, and a conveniently located strip of armor in front of her heart. That done, she picked up a cross-peen hammer and a monkey wrench, hefting them both to test the weight. Smiling she glided forward as the men jumped up, cheering at something the announcer had declared. They slapped each other on the shoulders, exchanging coin with varied levels of good-naturedness. As one man shoved his wallet back in his pocket, he half turned, eyes landing on Rose. She gave him her broadest smile, raising the monkey wrench to her chin and pressing her finger against her lips in a shushing motion.

“La mujer!” Tsking at his inability to keep a secret, Rose moved forward as the other two men turned. Swinging her tools low she took out a kneecap with the monkey wrench, caving in a temple with the hammer. Turning to the two remaining men, she caught a fist to the jaw, spinning around with the force of the blow. Working her jaw to check if it was broken she growled.

“Eso fue un error.” Her Spanish wasn’t nearly as good as some of the languages she knew, but from the looks of the assholes they had caught her jist. She went at the guy who had hit her, swinging for all she was worth as the second darted past her towards the door, likely to summon reinforcements. Rose didn’t care. She swung at her target’s face until it was nothing but a pulpy red mass. Panting over his body for a moment, she turned to the equipment. She didn’t have time for finesse, backup would be here soon to attempt to subdue her. With the efficiency of her rage and frustration, she swung her weapons at panels and mechanical equipment. Sparks flew and she could feel as the boat stopped moving.

As she moved through, focused on her destruction, her eye fell on the bilge pump. The massive piece of equipment made her grin. Dropping her tools she crossed the room, fiddling with the controls until the blessed machine began to work in reverse, pumping water _in_ to the ship instead of out. With a delighted laugh, she snapped the control of. See them fix that before their precious slave yacht sunk. At the other end of the room, the door swung open, crashing against the wall. A furious voice hissed out, making her shudder despite her own rage. “What have you done, idiot child?”


	20. Chapter 20

_Belgium…_

"Stop your crying!" Niran yelled, slapping the crying girl with the back of his hand. She tumbled off the bed where she had been sitting and hit the floor with a dull thud. "What have I said, girl?" His hand flew out again and he gripped her hair in his fingers, pulling her up and throwing her onto the bed again. He dropped the clump of her hair still in his hand onto the floor and began to slowly and methodically unbutton his shirt. "I paid too much money for you to cry. Do you know the night I have had?" He threw the shirt down and unbuckled his belt, the leather making a whisper of a sound as he pulled it from the belt loops. He folded it in half and smirked. "I know how you can make it up to me."

He snapped the leather and the girl whimpered, scuttling away from him and pressing her back to the headboard. She couldn’t have been any older than ten or eleven. Her eyes were wide with fear and thick teardrops spilled down her cheeks. Behind him, the shadows moved as Helena stepped from the darkness. The little girl's eyes widened even further seeing the masked woman step into the light. Niran didn't notice her reaction, though, taking it as fear of him. Then his own eyes widened as Helena wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled back roughly. He nearly fell and as he tried to cry out. Kiet stepped out from the shadows and took the belt from Niran’s limp hands, shoving it into his mouth to silence him. He secured the belt around the monster’s head, gagging him with his own weapon and Helena looked at him in disgust.

"You're never going to hurt anyone again. We're going to burn your empire to the ground." She walked away from him and over to the little girl, lifting a blanket to wrap her up in. "You're safe. We're going to get you out of here. I just need you to wait on the balcony. Okay?" The little girl silently nodded and Helena set her outside. The rain poured onto the city and from the balcony, all she could hear were the muffled cries of pain coming from Niran. Inside the room, Kiet and Helena took their time gathering the necessary information, while returning to him just a bit of the pain he put on his victims. Helena looks at Kiet. "He's your kill. He hurt your village and your people. I'm going to get the little girl to safety, just burn this place when you're done."

Turning her back she left him to his vengeance and collected the little girl. Lifting her up, she carefully climbed down and back into the courtyard. The rain drenched them, colder now than it had been when they arrived. They heard a scream and then heavy silence. As Kiet joined them they watched flames begin shooting out of the condo windows and they heard the panicked cries of people trapped within. There were no innocents inside. Only men who sold their souls to work for Niran. "What did you find out?" She asked him, turning the girl away from the inferno.

"The cargo ship still has a couple of days on its planned travel but we don't know if that's changed or not based on the difficulties they've been having with shipment delays. I have the dock location."

"We're going to take down Mary Elizabeth and then we're going to meet that cargo ship. If my contact is alive she's going to need backup. Even if it's just clean up." Helena turned to merge into the shadows again, Kiet close behind.

"We'll get the girl to safety and go back to Mary Elizabeth's." He said, his tone as resolute as hers. She didn't say another word, just continued their journey to the safe house.

_International Waters…_

Rose moved _fast_. She didn’t have time to think or process. Dipping down she picked up a piece of the broken machinery, turning and throwing it in the direction of the voice. Furious, his voice washed over her, yelling loud enough it echoed inside her head. “STOP!” She froze, halfway to another piece of equipment, fingers stretched out, almost touching the twisted metal. Then the satisfying sound of impact. The soft tinkling of shattered glass hitting the wet floor. It broke his concentration for mere seconds, but that was enough for someone with her abilities and training. Scooping up the abandoned monkey wrench from earlier, she turned and raced away from Psimon, eye trained on the place where the furnace connected to the ventilation system at the other end of the room.

Tugging with all her strength, she got the cover off, sliding into the damp and dusty ductwork of the ship. It stuck to her knees, tacky and sticky from humidity, as she crawled as fast as she could, away from the mess she had left behind. She hummed to herself, loudly, trying to block out any sound. Maybe if she couldn’t hear him, couldn’t see him, then he couldn’t affect her. She had to try everything in her power to stay out of his. A monster like that, with a weapon like her? He’d be a million times worse than her father ever was, and that was a uniquely terrifying thought.

Light shone up ahead, a grate out onto the next deck of the ship up above her. Breathing a sigh of relief, as small as she was it was a tight squeeze in here, she moved forward, putting her shoulder against the metal as she gathered her feet beneath her. Giving it her all she _pushed_ herself into a standing position, pushing down a crow of delight as the obstacle popped open on the first try. Rose wanted to laugh with relief, but she was far from free yet. The ship was sinking, and she had to get out. Her conscience twinged, thinking of the young girls she had left behind, but there was nothing she could do for them. Psimon had erased them, and if she went back, there was a good chance nobody was getting off this ship. She’d rather be dead than empty, but she hated making that decision for children so young.

Hate seethed through her. Hatred for Roades and Psimon, for every twisted person who took part in this little business venture of theirs. She threw open the door of the room she had come out in, finding two men with guns standing just outside. She smiled grimly at them, dragging one back into the room with her. Startled he shouted, though managed to hold on to his weapon. It wouldn’t do him any good though. With a twist of her own arm, she broke his neck, extracting his gun from his hand as he dropped to the floor. She drew down against the second man, his gun trained back on her.

She offered the armed man a dark smile, the kind that chilled to the bone as she flicked the safety on her newly liberated weapon. “Funny isn’t it? You have a gun, but if you kill me with it, they’ll probably kill you. Me? I want to kill all of you, so I don’t give a single flying fuck. If you only shoot to wound? You’re dead. If you shoot to kill, you’re dead. You’re the loser either way. Like I said… funny.” Two shots rang out, both from the gun in Rose’s hand, and the man toppled backwards, blood and brains leaking from the giant hole she had blown in his forehead. She dashed her hand across her face, clearing away some of the blowback.

Painted in the blood of her enemy, she claimed the second gun, rifling through the two thugs pockets for spare ammo clips. Once armed, she turned to the hallway where she could hear the sounds of heavy boots. She had weapons, the ship was sinking, and she had seen the depths these bastards were willing to sink to. Better to be dead than erased. She’d made that choice for the girls trapped down below, could she make any other choice for herself? Fuck no. Resolute, she stepped out of the room, bringing both pistols up as the goon squad’s feet appeared at the top of the stairs from the deck above.


	21. Chapter 21

_Belgium…_

They would soon be losing the cover of night, and already the first streaks of colour are teasing across the distant horizon. The deep onyx sky showing just a hint of purple as light threatens to return to the world. Helena looked over the large mansion feeling only hatred and contempt for those that were inside. Sometimes she wished she had the same level of disconnect that her father had, but that had never been her style. Her rage fueled her.

She glanced over at Kiet and nodded once before they separated and begin making their way around the large and lavish mansion. The last strains of the party could be heard as drunken guests stumbled around, finding dark corners to drag lovers into. Entering the dance hall was much easier than it should have been, and for a moment this worried her. Did they know? Was this a trap? She couldn’t force herself to question or care. She had to save the children and burn this place to the ground. She was trusting Kiet to set up the fire, she was the one going inside to grab the kids.

The band had long retired, and scratchy records play on an old Victrola. There were a few people still in the dance hall, but they were doing the slow dance that intoxicated fools do when they can barely stand up, and an amorous couple in the corner was ignoring everyone around them. Helena lowered herself beside the banquet table and quietly ran forward, seeing where the children were still seated. Their vacant eyes were not really focused on anything in particular. She approached them quietly, looking around, seeing their ankles were bound with irons, the chain linked to the stage. She sighed and looked over the convoluted setup. Would it be easier to pick the locks or break the chains? She would love to have Superman's strength about now.

Looking over everything she realized they were all set to one mechanism, and she was sure that if she could bypass it, all of the leg irons would open. She looked around again, taking her time to assess the situation. They still hadn't noticed her. She internally swore and reached into one of her pouches, pulling out a few tools to help her. With a deep sigh, she tucked into a corner between the stage and the banquet tables, carefully opening a panel to look at its design. She could tell from the layout that there was a fail safe in place. If she turned a single switch the wrong way an electric shock would hit the children, but she wasn't too sure how much voltage would be behind that shock. She wouldn't risk the kids the way. Drowning out the world around her, she carefully worked at the puzzle before her until she heard a satisfying clicking sound and the irons hit the stage. She held her breath for a moment. No one seemed to notice. She rose to her feet, looking around the dance hall. There were even fewer people now. She looked at the children.

"Come on. Let's go." She whispered, and they stared at her, utterly confused. "I'm going to get you out of here. Come with me."

"Where will we go?" A scared boy asked, and Helena held out her hand.

"Somewhere safe. Come with me. Please." The kids looked around and shrugged. As a group they seemed to decide that even if they were going into another dangerous place it couldn't be any worse than what they've already been put through. As they snuck through the glass doors leading outside there was a crack of lightning, but as Helena fell to her knees, she realized it was not weather that had broken the silence. It was a gunshot.

"Keep running!" She yelled to the kids, and they rushed into the yard, heading towards the trees. Helena could feel the wound in her back throbbing in pain, and she wasn’t too sure where she was hit, but she could still move her legs so it wasn't her spine. Rolling as she heard the gun cock again, she spun to her feet and found herself staring down with the Queen of Hearts, Mary Elizabeth.

"I knew I could not trust you. You seemed out of place here and now I know why." Mary Elizabeth's voice was cold as she leveled the gun at her again. "Those children do not concern me. There are always more to be had."

"You're sick, lady, you know that? They're kids and you're stealing them from their families. Their own lives." Helena hissed, the wound in her back shooting fiery pain throughout her midsection.

"I didn't 'steal' them. I bought them. There is a difference. I offer forlorn parents a chance to free themselves from the burden of having unwanted children. They are given more than enough money to start new lives, and I get new merchandise for my customers." Mary Elizabeth shook her head. "You really do not know what you are doing, do you? You're out of your depths, little girl."

Helena swallowed hard, pushing the pain down as she stood tall, sliding a throwing knife into her palm and adjusting her grip so she could throw it. "I'm going to burn your whole enterprise down." She boldly stated, narrowing her eyes at the woman across from her. She could smell smoke and wood burning. Kiet must have set the fires and luckily it seemed to be taking the mansion quickly.

Mary Elizabeth laughed, throwing her head back as she filled the room with the sound of her echoing mockery. "You are adorable, child. We are like a hydra. Cut off one head, two more will grow. I am just one of many that provide what the clients want."

Helena clenched her jaw and flicked her wrist, throwing the blade forward. Mary Elizabeth fired the gun again, the blade hitting her in the throat a split second after. She stumbled backward and Helena felt the impact of another bullet sinking into her body. She could feel herself falling, and then strong arms stopped the downward momentum, and she heard Kiet speaking into her ear. "It's okay. You're okay. I've got you."

She tries to reply but nothing came out. She blinked. She blinked again. Then she fainted.


	22. Chapter 22

_International Waters…_

Bullets flew, darkening the air of the small hallway. It felt like an eternity as she ducked, wove, and returned fire. Everything on automatic. She felt the burn of flesh and fabric as more than a few bullets grazed too close, the sharp pain as one lodged in her side, just above her kidney, another sunk into the hard muscle of her thigh, slowing her down. Pressing into a doorway to reload, Rose counted her remaining clips. One more for each gun, then she’d be spent. Who knew how many the thugs had? She was fading, she could feel the rage struggling to keep above the pain and exhaustion. Another lull fell in the cacophony of gunshots and she dashed back into the fray, targeting carefully, every shot counting. The ground was treacherously slick with blood, viscera, and bodies.

Standing atop several bodies piled in a heap, Rose brought both guns down to face the only man left standing. Roades, blood matting his hair to his face, aimed his own weapon at her with a glare. “Bitch, you are one fucking pain in the ass. I’ll be glad to be rid of you.” With a harsh laugh, Rose pulled the triggers of both guns, the clicking of empty cartridges too loud in the sudden stillness. Fuck. Will’s glare spread into a smile and he aimed his gun at her knee. She barely heard the sound as she crumpled, pain lancing through her, dulling all her senses. White noise filled her head, like a high pitched droning pressure. Kneeling on the shattered bone, she struggled. Dropping one gun, she fumbled with the cartridge of the second, trying to dislodge it.

Another shot as he leered down at her, and the gun in her hand went skittering across the floor. Rose cursed, throwing herself to the side, pushing herself painfully upwards to stand on her one good leg, her shoulder pressed against the wall to give her balance. She scowled at Will, fists forming as her bleeding hands came up defensively in front of her face. “It wasn’t my fault, you see.” Roades voice was low and cruel as he slowly approached her. “She just kept coming at me. I had to shoot her. She was like a rabid dog on the street.” He cocked his gun, that snide smirk spreading further.

She waited, patient, though the blood pounding through her veins, and oozing out her wounds, screamed for action. Adrenaline running high, visions battered against her, almost impossible to decipher from what was actually occurring. She knew, though. Knew that he would want to get in close for this last one. The cocky bastard couldn’t help himself. She waited, counting seconds as he overestimated the space between them, the degree of her injuries giving him a false sense of security. He didn’t understand the stubborn, unbreakable core at her centre. Better men than he had tried to end her, but she was still here, with scars reminding her of a thousand little errors.

One more step and she lashed out, one hand coming down hard on his wrist, causing him to drop the gun. It went off as it hit the floor, but she was still in motion. Her body, ignoring any outside stimulus, crashed into Roades, dragging them both to the ground. With unnatural strength she dragged herself up his body and began pounding at his face. The skin on her knuckles split as she cracked his cheekbone, but she couldn’t stop. The rage and hate and fear had taken over, and she let herself sink into the savagery of it all. Even after he stopped struggling, she kept raining down blows, until what had been his face was just so much pudding leaking out of a skin bag.

Large hands closed over her shoulders, fingers digging into the furrows left by bullets causing her to cry out. She fought, struggling weakly in far too many grips. She had spent everything she had in getting this far, in destroying Roades. Gasping for breath, blinking the blood out of her single eye, she looked up to see Psimon, the glass dome over his large brain cracked and splintered. His eyes glowed an angry red as what remained of his crew gathered around. Maybe half a dozen men remained, all of them injured. She had gotten so far… only to face defeat.

His voice slithered over her, burrowing into her brain. “It’s a pity about young Will, but of little matter. My Master will simply find another stupid, selfish boy to take his place. You, on the other hand.” He moved closer, the iron grips of his remaining minions and her own catalog of injuries keeping him safe at this point. “You will pay for every man you fell with a life. You will be my weapon, my clawed pet that does whatever it is told. You have cost me manpower, and the slaves in the lower levels, not to mention my ship.” His cheek pressed against her own, and someone’s hands gripped her hair, holding her in place when she would jerk away. She could feel the congealing blood drying between them, adhering their skin to one another.

“Once we have you all healed up, I am going to break you, little girl. When I am done, you will kneel by my feet gladly and bring me all the slaves I require. I will do more than take your will, Wilson. I will bend yours to mine, until all you want is what will please me. You will be my willing tool, and when I am through with you, when you have helped me achieve all of my goals, I will give you to my Master to do as he wishes. _He knows who you are._ ”

Quicker than she thought him capable of, he drew back, his cracked brain case cutting sharply across her scalp. The pain hid the pinprick at the back of her neck, and she slumped, insensate, as the powerful concoction of drugs roiled through her. She floundered in the darkness, reaching for anything, but all she could hear was the echo of Psimon’s voice. _He knows who you are._


	23. Chapter 23

_Elsewhere..._

The air smelled of roses and honeysuckles, though that didn’t seem quite right, and a warm breeze blew over Helena’s skin. She stretched slowly, and she gasped at how stiff her muscles all were. Almost tentatively she opened her eyes, blinking quickly as they adjusted to the overwhelming brightness in the room. There was a hint of saltwater in the air, but she couldn’t figure out where she was, or where that smell was coming from. She remembered Belgium… it had been Belgium, hadn’t it? And a window, a fire? Then nothing.

"She's awake." Kiet's voice sounded from her side and she tried to look at him, but her neck was so sore and stiff she moaned in discomfort. He had gotten out, likely gotten them both out. She wanted to thank them, but nothing would do what she wanted it to. Her mouth was dry and her throat even more so.

"Here, Helena." A straw was placed between her lips and she drank in the cold water desperately, coughing as she choked. A gentle hand wiped her mouth and chin, and for a moment she felt helpless, her body tensing. "It's alright. Be careful." Though she hadn’t recognized the voice at first, the deep, rumbling tones finally penetrated her exhausted brain, and she blinked in surprise.

"Daddy?" Her voice cracked from weakness, and she winced, finally turning to watch as her father sat on the bed next to her. He hadn't been that gentle or kind to her in so long she couldn’t help the tears that pooled in her eyes. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the pain of her battered limbs that allowed her to be so weak. She hadn’t let her father see her cry since she had been a child. Back before she had followed in his footsteps, and found only disapproval.

"I'm here." Bruce brushed her hair back, checking her temperature with the back of his hand, and then moving his hand to her neck to check her pulse. His movements were efficient, but his eyes still held that hint of softness that made her want to cry harder. Where had he been every other time she had needed him? Why was he here now when she had failed? She had so many questions for him, but they would have to wait.

"Where?" She tried to ask, but broke down coughing again. Once more her father offered her the straw from the cup he held. She sipped slowly, looking down to examine the bandages under the nightgown she was wearing. "Where am I?" She asked finally, feeling some of the sandpaper-like quality fade from her parched throat.

"International waters. You died, Helena. You flatlined for forty-five seconds. We barely pulled you back. You lost so much blood." Bruce wasn't a man that showed his emotion, but she could see the truth in his eyes today, this had shaken him. He was worried about her, the concern coming off him in waves. She’d never seen him so vulnerable. "Kiet called me and I came out here immediately. I took you out of the hospital and set you up here. It was safer here and I could bring in doctors I trust."

"I'm sorry." She whispered, looking away from his eyes and all the emotions he was showing right now. She was afraid to see them, ashamed of the distance between them, and that this had likely pushed the space further. He wouldn’t forgive her easily for making him open up. "You were right."

"No. I wasn't, Helena. You are free to be your own woman. You came from two parents who never listened to anyone and did what we wanted to. You are cleaning up my mess. When I left Udon Kai, it was still a wreck but I convinced myself I had saved the day and left it alone. I didn't check in as much as I should have because I'm good at solving the immediate problem and not the aftercare. I know this, Helena. I know that I've left cities on fire before admitting my mistakes."

"Why do you hate me, father?" She asked, feeling tears pooling up in her eyes, escaping in tracks down her cheeks. It was the one question she had longed to ask, and this might be the last time she would have the chance. She doubted he would let himself be exposed again.

"I don't." Bruce sighed, taking her hand. Emotions were hard for him, and he wasn't comfortable in these circumstances, but having almost lost her, his face said it was time that they talk. "I wanted to scare you away from this life. Helena, you've seen what it's done to me and your mother. You've seen the scars. You've seen what Arkham did to your mother. We aren't the people we used to be because of this life. I wanted more for you. I'd planned on sending you to Manhattan or Los Angeles, somewhere you could live a life without alter egos and masks. You deserved better than this."

"Dad, there was nothing else for me. I wasn't like other kids. I would never be like them. I just wanted to make you all proud. I just wanted to find my place. Helping Udon Kai, ending the child trafficking, that's what I want my legacy to be. I don't want to be so angry anymore."

Bruce leaned forward and kissed her forehead. The first affection he'd shown her in years, and she choked back a sob, not wanting any of it to affect her as much as this all was. There was much of her father in her, even if she was softer than he would ever be. "Tomorrow you'll get out of bed and we'll get your body strong again. Then we will do this together. I won't let you die on me again. I won't lose you, Helena."

"You won't, daddy. I swear." She whispered, feeling like a child again, but on some level, it felt nice. Could it be true? Did her father truly love her? Would he be there like she needed him to be? Like she had needed him to be so many times before, only to be disappointed? Right now she was too tired to think, but she knew she had to get out of bed. She had to get back on the hunt. She would not rest until the Harvest Association was burned to the ground.


	24. Chapter 24

Rose came back to herself slowly. Painfully. Her skin was bruised, cuts that had just begun healing pulled and protested as she tried to rise from the rough floorboards that were pressed against her cheek. The strain in her shoulders warned her before the sudden stop that her hands were chained behind her back. She closed her eye tighter, breathing as she attempted to ascertain her exact position. It had been a long time since Rose had been this out of it. She was used to waking up and being ready for action. The chains at her wrists were heavy, a thick metal, steel she was pretty certain, and matched with a pair around her ankles. She was on a floor somewhere, and the chill in the air suggested her clothing was not in the greatest condition.

Slowly she opened her eye, surveying the area first. She could see a discarded pair of dress shoes, the legs of a chair and table, an area rug of braided rags, the foot of a bed. She let her vision scan down her front. Clothes were worse for wear, but still on. Most of them were stained the ruddy brown of dried blood. It was so thick in places that it was nearly black, still damp and sticky against her skin. She hadn’t been cleaned off, and that, oddly enough, reassured her. Rose remembered most of what happened, though the end was murky. She wasn’t entirely sure what Psimon meant about making her a pet, but the fishbowl-headed assclown had bitten off far more than he could chew. She’d show him.

Unable to bite back the small moan of discomfort, Rose forced her body off the floor, pausing whenever she felt dizzy. She would hold herself still, muscles straining and complaining, but she would not retreat. The floor had felt too good, too right. She would not return to it for fear she’d not be able to rise again. Finally she had managed, using the wall behind her and her own enhanced strength, to push herself to a kneeling position. Her hands rested over her bound ankles, and deft fingers explored the length of chain between them, and the surface of the shackles themselves, looking for the locking mechanism.

When the broken nails of her finger caught on the lock, she closed her eye again, shutting out distractions as she traced the entrance. The key wouldn’t be big, so it was probably on Psimon’s person. Growling she tugged at the chains again, setting off ripples of pain through her wrists, shoulders, and ribs. She couldn’t snap these chains like she had the last ones, and getting a key off someone who could take over your whole damn mind wasn’t her idea of a fun day. She needed a plan, but her thoughts were still murky. Forming each one was like wading through a swamp. Something kept trying to suck her down, further, until she was lost to unconsciousness again.

The sounds of boots, heavy on the wood floor, crossed the room. She’d missed the door opening, and she swore quietly, calling herself every kind of fool. Here she was, hunched over on her knees. Weak. Vulnerable. She was disgusted with herself. Angry with the situation. Where had it all gotten out of her control? How had she allowed the mission to come to this point? She didn’t look up, didn’t open her eye. Instead she focused inside, trying to chase the last dregs of the drugs in her system away. She breathed quickly, shallowly, trying to spike her adrenaline, to purge the last of the muck from her veins and allow her ability to give her a clue.

“Get up.” Immediately Rose stiffened. The voice wasn’t the oddly persuasive crooning of Psimon. It was so much worse. The disappointment and castigation in the voice settled around her shoulders with a familiar finality.  She should have known, should have suspected, that he would come. She stayed where she was, slowing down her breathing. She wouldn’t need it, not yet. In this position, if he was going to kill her she would already be dead.

“Hello Father. I don’t remember sending you an invitation to the party. If you would kindly make your way through the nearest exit so that I can complete my contract, I’d be much obliged.” Slade Wilson being here could mean any of a million things, and Rose refused to dwell on any of them. Her father was witnessing one of her lowest points, and that very idea was unconscionable. She wanted to scream at him to leave, to take the universe by its shoulders and push it out the nearest window. Whoever or whatever had the cruel sense of humour that resulted in this travesty of a moment deserved to die.

“Foolish child.” Boots moved across the room, away from her, but she didn’t relax. She gripped the chain between her hands, feeling the slide and rasp of broken bones moving as she wrapped her fingers around the metal. She hadn’t noticed that she’d broken any fingers before. Whatever they’d dosed her on had been good. Strong. Effective. Probably calibrated for someone with her particular ability set. That made her pause. If it could take her down, it could take Slade down. That part of her, deep inside, that was a little girl desperate for her daddy’s attention and praise wanted to warn him. She didn’t, too much of her was angry. Angry at him and the world. He was a monster, and she took down monsters. He was the one that she couldn’t quite beat. Not this Harvest Association. Not this Psimon. They were nothing, and she’d win here too. “I don’t like having to rescue you, Rose. Now _get up._ ”

She turned her face up to meet the stony gaze of her father. His voice was chilly, but nothing showed in his expression. He was a like a statue. Immovable. Long ago she had wanted to be like him, had struggled against her nature to be what he wanted her to be. It had almost destroyed her. He didn’t understand that her rage was her strength, her very core. Without it she was empty. Without it she would be _him._ “I am neither foolish nor a child.” His voice might have held ice, but hers was all heat, the rage at her core roaring like an inferno, though she kept the lid on it as best she could. “Nor did I ask for your assistance. I’ve got this shit handled.”

He stopped, the deliberate pause of a hunter assessing a situation. Rose focused on holding herself still, on not reacting. She closed her eye, counted to ten. Then counted again. The fire inside her burned hot, but she did her best to cool its ire. This wasn’t the time to take on her father, they both knew it. She just wanted to do her fucking job, without the old man stepping in. “ _I see_.” Colder now. Chilly enough to freeze even her flames, Slade moved back towards the door. “I would say I was disappointed, but at this point you are simply living up to the low expectations you have set. Sort your shit out, _Ravager_. If I have to come back here and mop this up, you will regret it. The Wilson name means something.”

She didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Nothing she could say wouldn’t end up with his blade at her throat. She wanted to fight him, more than she would admit, but not like this. She’d need the upper hand. It was up to her to pull herself out of this shit. She’d be hanged if she needed dear old dad riding in to save her. Not that it was about her. It was about the family name. How dare she tarnish his reputation? Fucker. _The Wilson name means something._ She ran out of names to call him in her head. The Wilson name meant lots of things, none that she was proud to be associated with. She would show him, though. She would show them all.


	25. Chapter 25

_Helena…_

The sun hurt her eyes for a moment as her father guided her from the room she'd been recovering in. His kindness was odd to her, even after everything they'd talked about. She was so afraid to become used to it, afraid that it would all turn out to be a cruel joke, that when she turned around he'd be gone, or his eyes would be cold again, full of the disappointment and hate she saw before. She'd dressed in workout attire, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and she was going to try a 'gentle' workout with him.

She knew if it was with her father, no matter how 'gentle' he claimed it would be, it wouldn’t. She needed it though. Her body was weakened from her near death experience. She had seen the scars of the bullets, and knew the damage they must have done to her. She could feel it every time her father took her hand or wrist, could see that he checked her pulse as if he was afraid her heart would stop beating again. Maybe he truly was nervous for her safety and life.

There was a warm breeze and the water was calm. Looking around, all she could see for miles was the skyline and water. It was like they were floating at the ends of the earth.

"Are you ready?" Bruce asked, and Helena nodded. There was a flash of movement, and she was suddenly on her back. Gasping, she hissed in pain as she looked up at him, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment. He didn’t say a word, just offered his hand to her and helped her up. Taking his hand she spun onto her side, wrapping her legs around his arm and pulling him down into a triangle hold. There was a flash of a smile as if he was pleased with her actions. He rolled out of it and they faced off again, him moving to take her down and her using her cat-like grace to avoid capture. Sparring was like a dance for them, both taking turns trying to take the other down or get the upper hand. She knew that he was going easy on her, and while that would usually upset her, right now she was just fine with it. She was not ready for a full fight against him yet. She doubted she could even take him at her full strength. Very few could out-fight the Batman. Finally, she stumbled into him, a wave of dizziness hitting her from the sun or dehydration setting in. He caught her and nodded, knowing she couldn’t handle anymore. Before he would have kept pushing. She'd seen him push back at Dick and Tim many times, but right now he was taking it easy on her.

Bruce took her inside, and Kiet brought them drinks. She raised an eyebrow and finally asks what's been on her mind. "Have you been working for my father the whole time?"

Kiet sighed, nodding. "Nearly the whole time. I came to America on my own to track Niran, but got myself in trouble. Your father...saved me and then I owed him a life debt. He said my life debt would be repaid in following you and keeping you safe. I... failed. You nearly died in my care so I will be at your side until my last breath. I will never fail you again."

Helena blinked and looked at her father who nodded. "Kiet is a good man. He will make sure what happened to you at that house will never happen again." Helena can hear _the_ tone in his voice. Bruce clearly felt Kiet made a mistake in letting her be shot. Helena’s anger flashed hot. She was no damsel. She was no soft doll needing protection. "No offense to either of you, but do I not get a say? I do not need a bodyguard or a lapdog." She looked between them, "Kiet your debt is paid. You do not have to stay with me."

"Helena..." Bruce began.

"No! No, father! I am not going to ask this man to give up his life to follow me around like a puppy. He has his freedom."

"Helena, aside from owing you my life debt, I cannot go home. My home is in Gotham now. There is nothing I want to do more than to take down the human trafficking that has ruined my home, but I cannot go back to Udon Kai without being killed. So, I will stay here and work with you." Kiet sighed, sitting down across from them and bowing his head in shame. "I have my home, I have failed you both. I will not fail you again."

"You haven't failed anyone or anything. We're going to finish what we've started here and then we're going to Udon Kai. I don't care if I have to burn the whole fucking thing to the ground. We're going to end that and keep those kids safe no matter what." Helena clenched her jaw, her eyes flashing in anger.

"We will return to Udon Kai." Bruce interjected, "But right now we need to finish what has been started here. I have intel that suggests a few heavy hitters are getting close to something big. Aside from the name Psimon popping up multiple times now, I have it on good authority that there they are employing a few mercenaries that will become a pain in our asses if we aren't careful."

"Have you heard anything about the Ravager?" Helena asked, turning to look at her father.

"Rose Wilson? What does she have to...?” He blinked, then sighed. "Have you seen her?"

"Yes, at the beginning. We stumbled into each other and she had this insane plan about being captured and taking them on from the inside out."

Bruce Wayne does not facepalm, but Helena could have sworn he looked like he wanted to. "I suppose I should not be surprised, and I have done something similar in the past... notably Udon Kai... but if she's gone inside she's going to have a helluva time getting out. There are forces at play here that are just coming to the light now and if she's alone..." Bruce rolls his eyes. "Once you're stronger we'll move forward. _If_ she's alive we'll pull her out.”

"I doubt she'll let us pull her out. She's rather... stubborn." Helena remarked dryly, remembering how fun her last meeting with Rose was.

"She is not our problem, we'll cross that bridge if we get there. For now, rest. Tomorrow we begin our harder training. And we're heading back towards the coastline. The longer we stay out of this fight, the more stacked against us it will be. I've made improvements to your suit. You won't be getting shot anymore. That's for sure." Bruce nodded at Kiet and then took his leave.

Helena sighed and looked at Kiet for a moment. "Are you serious about this whole life debt thing?"


	26. Chapter 26

_Rose..._

The sound of a clearing throat dashed Rose into consciousness a second time. Her eye flew open, pupil dilating as she tried to process the world around her, her brain still strangely murky. It was darker now, though the porthole allowed just enough of a faint glow of moonlight through to see by. She was still kneeling on the wooden floor, joints stiff, and knees sore from the pressure. She could feel the strain on her neck. Had she dozed off while making her plans? Sleeping sitting upright was murder on the body. Biting back a grunt of discomfort, she moved her focus to the man, no, the monster, perched on the edge of the bed across from her, watching her with a sickening fascination. “I have to say, pet, your reaction to the drugs is _fascinating._ They make most subjects extra compliant. But you? Total shutdown. I haven’t yet seen this kind of reaction, but then again, you are the first metahumans we’ve tested it on.” Psimon didn’t sound fascinated, he sound angry. The echoing call of death was in his voice, Rose recognized it instantly. This would be it. If she couldn’t free herself now, this soft-handed bastard was going to kill her.

He stood, stalking towards her in a sloppy approximation of a predatory prowl. Whatever it was that conveyed danger when men like her father walked, Psimon was completely lacking it. All his threat lay in his mind, and he didn’t have to move closer to use that. She fixed her face into a bored expression, refusing to turn her head to follow his trajectory as he stopped on her blind side. She wasn’t afraid of what he could do to her physically, and she didn’t know how to fight off his mental invasions for good. She would reserve her energy. Wait. Plan. She tried to think. He was closer now, and somewhere on him was the key to her restraints. It had to be. She refused to consider any other outcome. If he didn’t have them, and she killed him, she would just be consigning herself to being locked in this room, with a body, until some other captor came along to subdue her. Even she had proven to have limitations.

She felt the tug as he caught up a lock of her hair, letting it spill over his hand and through his fingers. Again Rose bit her tongue, letting him stoke that pool of rage deep within her, but keeping it leashed. It wasn’t yet time. “Thirty-six hours. That’s how long you have been in this room. During that entire time, I couldn’t get inside your head. It was like beating against a brick wall.” He sidestepped into her view, crouching down and leaning in close, grasping her chin in his long fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You’re no telepath, _Ravager_. How the fuck can you keep me out? Why don’t my beautiful drugs work on you? _What is so fucking special about you?”_

There it was, he had given away the game. It was one thing to tell her he hadn’t been able to get into her head, which was foolish enough. But that last bit, _how the fuck can you keep me out,_ was she still untouchable? Was he unable to control her _right now_? A sharp, bitter bark escaped her lips, and she yanked her chin from his hand, head-butting him hard where his flesh joined the glass dome that encased his oversized brain. She heard the crack as he sprawled backwards, but she couldn’t wait to see how he would react. She twisted her hips, muscles screaming in protest, and swung her chained legs around as fast and hard as she could, dragging his body back towards her. His arms flailed, clawing at the wooden floor, fighting her. She was so much stronger than the freak. Turning her back on him, she threw herself towards his head, glass tearing at her arms, chains protesting, as she brought the heavy steel manacles down on the dome once, twice more, shattering it completely. Glass rained down around them, lacerating her arms until they were slick with blood she barely noticed.

“Sto-” Rose screamed, a primal sound, drowning out Psimon, filling her own brain with a tidal wave of rage. She didn’t want to test his control, didn’t want to hear the slick tones of his voice. She threw herself down again, wrapping her hands in the jelly-like mass of Psimon’s brain. A high-pitched shrieking joined her shouts, but she barely registered it. The mercenary girl squeezed her hands through the mass, pulling apart what she could, the sickening squelching sounds a strange counterpoint to the screaming. Broken shards of glass embedded in her palms, under her nails, but she didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. Not until her own voice halted, hoarse and spent, did she realize that Psimon wasn’t making sounds anymore, nor was he moving. She rolled off of him, panting heavily with the exertion, bits of grey matter caught under her nails, mashed into her skin. The air was thick with the heavy scents of copper and offal. It took more effort than she wanted to expend to push herself back on her knees, but she did it. She was Rose fucking Wilson, and she would not lay there, gasping for breath in a pool of blood.

Instead she turned back to Psimon’s body, crawling painfully across the glass and blood, slipping several times. What was left of her pants was awash with gore, her eye wild as she scanned his body. No rise and fall of breath. His face slack. Where he once had sported that idiotic dome, was nothing. Whitish bits of what used to be his brain floated in the pools of blood. The dark glare Rose usually wore left her face, her lips tilting upwards in a feral smile as she surveyed the damage. Even if he didn’t have the key on him, she had no regrets in this moment. “I’m smiling now, motherfucker.”


	27. Chapter 27

_Helena…_

"Again." Bruce's voice called out and she attacked. Her movements faster, her body no longer protesting, and her eyes focused on her target. Kiet was a gentler sparring partner than Bruce, but it was still a lot for her to handle on the second day of her recovery. The wounds were stiff, and when she changed she could see the stitches had torn. The scars would be worse, but she would wear them with pride. With a spin and sweep of her leg, she brought Kiet down and moved on top of him, trapping his arm behind his back and twisting until he tapped out. She was pulling back when he moved, fast, and knocked her down. She hit her back on the surface of the boat with a loud thud, and she felt the pain move through her spine and ribs. Kiet pounced on her and tried to trap her legs, but those have always been her strongest limbs and she powered out of the hold. She wrapped her legs around his ribcage, using them to throw him down. Pulling herself up, she turned them both and wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling back and cutting off his air supply. He tapped out again, and lay down, defeated. She looked up to find her father, but he wasn’t where he had been standing anymore.

She felt strong arms wrapping around her torso, trapping her arms at her sides. Before he can get his arms locked around her, she dropped down, landing on her butt with another thud. She was going to be covered in bruises by the end of this. Oh well. She slid back between Bruce's legs and grabbed his ankle, twisting to bring him down. He rolled out of her grasp and stood to face her again. He moved like a panther, all grace and deadly intent. She wished she was more like him at times. She had inherited her mother's agility, but there was nothing like the way Bruce Wayne moved. She tried to emulate him, but she couldn’t match it yet. They continued their dance, outsmarting each other's attacks, twisting out of holds, and never letting the other win. As they reached a final stalemate, Bruce nodded. "Good. You're strong again."

"Yeah." Helena grimaced, wrapping an arm around her sore ribs. The day's workout had drained her.

"Come with me." Bruce turned and entered the main cabin on the boat. Helena raised an eyebrow, but followed him. She was still getting used to this, and she wondered how long before he went cold on her again. She tried not to focus on those thoughts and just joined him in the room. He opened a cabinet and there was her suit... but different. It was made with new material. She stepped forward and carefully touched it. Whatever it was made of felt like the Batsuit.

"Bulletproof, fireproof, acid-proof, and resistant to extreme cold and heat." Bruce stood to the side with crossed arms. "It's lighter now. It will move with your body easier. If you're going to be out in the field, you're going to be safe. I added a communications feature so you can reach out to me or Alfred." He sighed. "Or Barbara and Dinah if you three are still up to your old antics."

Helena can't help the smile that came over her face. She missed Barbara and Dinah. She wondered where they were right now. What they were doing. "Look, I know you have your own style. You are more...-"

"Brutal, father. Brutal is the word. I know you don't exactly like my means, but when I handle someone they don't come back. That's how I keep the streets safe." Helena ran her fingers over the suit appreciatively. She hadn’t gotten a lot of gifts from her father, but this one? This one more than made up for it.

"I still think that's dangerous, but right now isn't the time for that talk. If we're going into Udon Kai, you're going to need to be brutal. Anything can happen there." The warning was heavy in his voice.

"I thought we were going to try and track wherever that Psimon guy is?" Helena frowned, watching Bruce, unsure what he was getting at. She knew he had a plan, he always did, but he was being his usual unforthcoming self.

"I have intel that suggests he was heading to land close to Udon Kai. A shipment of girls is expected. It's almost tourist season there." Disgust flits across Bruce’s face.

"Tourist season?" Helena asked, bile rising in her throat. She had a feeling she knew what it meant, but somehow hoped that maybe she was wrong, or at least that he wouldn’t fill in the blanks for her.

"It's exactly how it sounds. They round up young girls and pile them onto a cruise ship. The cruise is full of wealthy men who buy the girls. They use the girls until there’s nothing left, and then they dump them." Bruce walked over to a wall with photos of a compound, the pictures were obviously taken with night-vision cameras. "Niran may be dead, but that doesn't mean new leadership hasn't taken over. A man named Chakrii is claiming that he is now in charge and has enacted martial law over Udon Kai. They are raiding villages as we speak. Psimon is still my target, but we have to prioritize."

"If they are raiding villages we need to go there. Now." Helena crossed her arms, but was tempted to just hug herself. These monsters were the worst kind of people, and she was going to eliminate all of them, one way or another.

"We're already on the way," Bruce called out as he made his way to a desk in the corner, opening a laptop and calling up maps. Helena stared at the suit for another moment and then grabbed it from the cabinet. Holding it to her chest she rushed off to put it on. If they were going to war, she was getting ready to fight.


	28. Chapter 28

_Rose…_

Bless him for being prone to that idiotic villain conceit, Psimon had the key on his person. It took longer than she wanted to find it, her range of motion limited by the chains. Around her knees the blood, brains, and other bodily effluvia formed a tacky paste, causing her to stick to the floorboards as she made painstaking progress searching his body with her hands still behind her back. It was embarrassing how much the effort took from her, and if she hadn’t been a Wilson, she might have cried from relief when she finally located the key. She wasn’t sure how long it took her gore-slick fingers to get the key into the lock, but thankfully no one came in during that entire time.

Once she was free, massaging her sore joints and peeling her legs off the messy floor, she paused. The fight with Psimon hadn’t been quiet, where were the men? His backup? Every muscle tense, she moved across the floor, cracking the door open. The hallway was a massacre. A quick once-over showed more bodies than she had thought remained on the ship, but since some were in multiple pieces she couldn’t quite trust the count. Striding forward, she had her answer as to who had assisted. Embedded in the back of one of the goons were her own swords, her mask tied to the hilt of one. In his own way, her father had helped her.

Now certain that she was alone on the ship, she went on a reconnaissance mission, taking stock. The girls were gone, several drowned in their cages, but no signs of the rest. Rose assumed Slade had taken them with him, or else perhaps they had taken the opportunity to flee on one of the boats. Either way, it didn’t matter. They weren’t here, and she didn’t have the time or energy to rescue them. She had to come up with a plan, some way to get through the checkpoint.

Moving up to the bridge she checked all the dials and instruments, stepping over the corpses of the crew left behind there. Written next to the dials, in her father’s hand was a note with latitude and longitude points. Biting back a growl of irritation, she made sure that the ship was on track, noting with anxiousness how close to the points the ship actually was. That was when it all came together for her. She moved over the ship, shifting bodies, painting a very different tableau regarding what had occurred aboard the ship. It was like a picture painted in blood and murder, in a fan around one central point on deck.

Once the scene was set, she went below, showering the remains of Psimon and who knew how many others off of her. It took almost an hour before the water stopped running red. Clean, dry, she clothed herself in black clothing from Will’s room. He hadn’t been a large man, and with a pair of scissors, she made everything work. The black jeans were roomie, but at least they didn’t drape over her feet. The black sweater had been tight on him, and it fit her comfortably. Try as she might, she couldn’t find shoes that would fit her feet, but that was fine. She didn’t need shoes.

Padding back up top, she rechecked the instruments, the shoreline starting to come into view. It looked like a private dock, too bad for the owner that she was about to come crashing into their world. The stars glittered coldly in the sky above them, mocking her plan, her efforts here. She barely recognized the constellations, but if she was right she’d ended up somewhere in the south-eastern hemisphere. Picking her way through the carefully positioned carnage, she knelt in the pristinely clean circle of deck she had left, a katana at each of her sides, easy access to her hands, and tied the mask in place. None of her plans had gone right while dealing with the Harvest Association, and she was ready for this to go cock-eyed just as much as the last. She was glad that Huntress had stayed behind. The girl wasn’t shy about pulling the trigger, but this level of death and destruction belonged to a Wilson.

Her father was Death, he always had been and always would be. Joey had been Pestilence, invading the bodies of others and taking them from within. Grant had been Famine, always hungry for more, the next kill, the next victory. Rose? She was War. Wherever she went she left a swath of blood and destruction, all ready for her Slade to reap the benefits. It served his precious reputation, and as much as she despised him she couldn’t stop. It was in her blood, in the rage that fired within her centre, driving her ever forward. The Titans had seen it, had cast her aside because of it. Psimon wasn’t the first who thought they could contain her fury, he was just the latest victim. Even her father kept her at arm’s length, wary of the aggressive anger that coloured her every action. He thought it was weakness, but it made her strong. Anger helped her paint this picture, and anger would get her past that dock.

With a splintering of timbers, the massive ship crashed into the dock. Splinters flew, added décor to her tableau. Shouts rang out, and finally the ship came to a grinding halt, run aground. Rose waited, breathing, feeling the adrenaline sparkle up through her veins like champagne bubbles. This was the rush, this is what dragged her back out over and over. She marshaled it, waiting for the rats to take the bait. Finally sounds of ladders being thrown up the sides of the ship could be heard. She reached down, one hand on the hilt of each of her swords, stillness coming over her. The calm before the storm.

A masculine gasp of horror, more shouting, several different languages, not all those that she recognized. Boots hit the deck, crashing towards her, but she didn’t move, just let them take in the carnage. Every dead body, including the poor drowned girls, in their kennels, had been dragged onto the deck. The girls were behind her, fanned out like a peacock’s tail. Directly in front of her were Psimon and Will, then spread out from them were the bodies of their goons, two, three deep in some places. Viscera coated the deck between the bodies, but around her and the girls? Nothing. All the footsteps stopped at the edge of the clean space, as if good sense wouldn’t let the men draw nearer.

Slowly, Rose raised her face, her expression calm, her lips curled into a sardonic smile, though her single eye crackled with fury. She counted the assembled men, twenty-five, maybe thirty, and likely more at the bottom of those ladders. She couldn’t take them all, but she had this one shot to make her point. Rising to her feet, katanas loose in her hands, her smile spread as the men nearest her stepped backwards. One made a sign against evil, and she threw her head back, her laughter harsh and biting in the sudden stillness of the air. A seagull’s cry echoed her voice, and she fixed her single-eyed stare on the best dressed man of the group, assuming he was some kind of leader.

“I am called The Ravager, and I am here to speak to your boss.”


	29. Chapter 29

_Helena…_

Every part of her body ached, her wounds still screaming at her to rest, but mentally she was ready for war. Her new suit, not entirely surprisingly, fit better than her old one, and it was lighter. Even with all of the improvements, she had a freer range of movement. She hoped that her father had meant the part about it being bulletproof, she could have used that before, back at the club. Helena sighed, staring into the mirror, and facing the knowledge that her body was not ready for what was to come, no matter how hard she pretended it was. She was not a metahuman, like the Ravager. She had no powers. She was just a mortal girl, covered in scars and bruises. She knew she had a concussion, bruised ribs, at least three bullet holes, a sore leg, a messed up arm, and when she moved too fast she got dizzy, but that was probably the concussion. Her short term memory might have been suffering as well. This was not going to be a great experience...

She sighed again, tying her hair back and out of the way. "How are you feeling?" Kiet asked, his voice low as he entered the room dressed in all black. Looking at him, Helena could tell that his suit was also designed by her father. Thankfully, this one was not another Robin suit. If it had been… well, she probably wouldn’t have done anything, but the level of trust she had in the people she was about to go into combat with was already low. It wouldn’t be ideal to have more doubts assuaging her mind.

"Alive." She waited a moment, considering whether or not she wanted to know the answer, and then asked the question that wouldn’t stop plaguing her mind. "Were you in constant contact with my father? Did I truly have a say in anything we did, or was this just some kind of game or test?"

"Yes, and no." Kiet approached her, standing behind her, and looking at her reflection in the mirror. The expression on his face was hard to read, but seemed to have at least a hint of regret. "You always had the choices to make. If something were to get out of hand, I was to reach out to Mr. Wayne."

Helena laughed, and the sound was far more bitter than she intended. It wasn’t her, or at least it hadn’t been her before she’d begun looking into this terrible situation. "You know, it's hilarious to me that he acts like he still has a secret identity. So many know he's the Bats now. It's almost a comedy. Anyone who doesn’t know has to be willfully ignorant."

"He loves you, Helena. Truly." Kiet watched the many emotions flickering in her eyes, but she didn’t know what he was hoping to see there.

She snorted, shaking her head at his delusion. "I know he's here playing up the concerned father act, and it’s very sweet that you are buying into it. I'm sure some of it is even true, as much as it can be with him. After all, it's not every day your daughter gets shot half to death. However, I saw what he did to Dick, Jason, and even Babs. Maybe especially Jason and Babs. He uses people, Kiet. He uses them until they're used up, and then he throws them away for a newer model." She turned to face him, and she put a half-smile on her face, completely at odds with the harsh tone of her voice. "Just be careful around him, Kiet. I know I am."

She patted his arm and walked past him, heading up to the deck. They would be arriving soon, and she wanted to be up front and center, ready for action when they got there. Kiet stared after her, shaking his head sadly. He wished she trusted her father more, and deep down Helena felt the same way. She wished she could trust him more, but she's seen so much of his true darkness. Deep inside his chest is a frozen heart that occasionally beat. She just wasn’t sure who it beat for. Her, her mother, anyone? All she knew was wherever he went, he left a string of broken people behind him, trying to put the pieces of themselves back together. She was too smart to let him catch her in that trap.

Out on the deck she stood next to her father… Bruce... the Batman, and stared ahead. A steady rain began to fall on them and lightning cracked across the sky. They weren’t pulling into any docks, they would simply leave the boat near a rocky hillside and hope that the camouflage made it hard to find. They had no choice, with only three of them this mission hinged heavily on holding the element of surprise. If just one thing went wrong, it could all fall apart, just like it did back on the docks with the Ravager.

"Ready?" Helena nodded at the quiet question as Kiet joined them, and Batman lead the boat to the landing point. Carefully they climbed out and used the grapple gun to ascend the difficult terrain. The cover of rain and mud would make it easier to stealthily move through the small jungle surrounding them, though the way it clung to the bottom of their feet was far from silent. They were nearing Chakrii's compound. The last time the Batman had come through, it was surrounded by a small militant army, and based on the sounds of orders being shouted in another language, Helena would guess it still was. There was a thick scent of gasoline and gunpowder in the air, even with the heavy rain falling. Helena shared a look with the Batman and they both nodded. Her steps were silent as she scouted ahead, being lighter than the other two had some distinct advantages. There were at least twenty guys, a tank, and a big guy with a flame thrower. What could possibly go wrong?


	30. Chapter 30

_Rose…_

The docks were in chaos. Rose’s announcement hung in the air for nearly a full minute as the workers took in the tableau she had put together. The dismembered bodies of the Harvest Association men, Psimon’s shattered cranium, the bloated bodies of the drowned girls. She gave them that moment, let them drink it in, and then she moved. With speed that was one part metahuman ability and one part years of practice under an exacting teacher, she was over the bloody carnage and onto the uneven planks of the shattered docks. She had mown through almost half a dozen dock workers before movement towards halting her even began.

As far as she was concerned, there were no innocents here. Every man and woman standing here had been complicit in the sale and torture of children and young women, and she felt no guilt as the unarmed fell victim to her blades. At the other end, someone was trying to organize a defense. The sound of orders being barked echoed over the screams of pain and fear. Most of these people didn’t know who she was, and the scene she had set made the more superstitious in the group afraid. Some tried to stop her, but most fled before her dripping blades as they whirled through the air, her face alight with a savage joy. She was so small and delicate looking, even in all that black, but below her mask her lips curled into an expression that might be called a smile if it wasn’t so terrifying.

Finally the rat-a-tat-tat of automatic weapons fire broke over the battlefield, and Rose rolled behind cover just as a line of bullets pinged across the ground she had just been standing on. Heart pounding with adrenaline, she peered around the shipping barrels to gauge the distance between herself and the gunman. Too far to cross while he still had bullets, unless she had some pretty good cover. Her mind buzzed, a million different plans crowding her thoughts, each riskier, more dramatic, than the last. Normally she would weigh them against each other, but not tonight. Tonight was about vengeance, and reactionism. She had to get to the top, and she was content to bleed her way there.

Rolling back into the fray, relying on her precognition to guide her feet, she practically flew across the gore-slicked planks, dodging and weaving as a hail of bullets sprayed across the area. Several bodies fell, not just beneath her blade, but to friendly fire as well. Whomever was in charge here was willing to risk a few men to keep her from getting to them. Smart. When she found them, she’d take them apart. That was the plan, anyway. Leaping over a body, focused on the gunfire, she didn’t realize the guy wasn’t quite dead. A hand closed around her ankle, yanking her to the ground.

Due to the injuries she sustained on the boat, she couldn’t flip up to her feet like she normally would. Instead, she rolled over, bringing her katana down on the man’s wrist, severing it right at the joint. The hand fell away from her ankle, a massive cry escaping the attacker. It had been enough of a distraction though, several heavy figures leapt on her, pinning her arms and legs, weighing her down so even her enhanced strength couldn’t help her rise from the deck. She let out a scream of rage, viciously biting an arm that got too close to her face. With a muffled curse, her one arm was released, and she swung wildly, digging her fingers into another attacker’s face. She growled triumphantly at the feeling of an eye bursting beneath her thumb as she clung to the thug, the screaming noises he made.

More bodies joined the pile, and her arm was forced back to the ground, though it took longer to break her death grip on her victim’s skull. Heavy chains were brought, and they wrapped them around her ankles first. She freed a leg, broke someone’s nose, shattered a femur, and flat out launched someone off what remained of the docks before her legs were immobilized. Still she fought, every injury payment for Lauryn, and for the other girls who had been too afraid to even speak their own names. When she couldn’t move any more, they ripped off her mask, using it to gag her.

Finally, a well dressed woman in an expensively cut suit stepped onto the dock, her nose wrinkling in disgust as she took in the carnage Rose had wrought there. “No one has gotten this close to the Compound in a long time, I applaud your… single minded devotion. It is a pity that you destroyed the emissary, it would have been a delight to turn your destructive wrath to our purpose. I will not insult either of our intelligences by offering you a job on our side, it’s a tired cliché and I simply do not have the time to deal with your attempts to fake compliance. It has never been a trait your family has held.” Her lips curled in a nasty smile as she stepped forward, tilting Rose’s chin up to examine her face. “Other than that lovely hair, you far more closely resemble your mother. Such a pity that we are going to have to throw away such a pretty piece of cargo.”

The woman released her and stepped back, but her words had penetrated the haze of rage that Rose had summoned. This lady, this _monster_ , not only knew who she was, but knew who her mother was? A flash of that old hope burned through her, but she crushed it. This was neither the time nor the place to chase pipe dreams. “Despite my advisement that she should be killed outright, Chakrii wants to see the deadly little beast. If she gets away from you, not a member of your families will escape the wrath of our Lord, am I understood?”

The men holding Rose quavered, but their voices were firm and strong as they acknowledged the woman, dragging Rose towards a jeep. Perhaps it was less dignified than her planned entrance, but it appeared she was going to get to see the Compound one way or another.


	31. Chapter 31

_Helena..._

Helena noticed that Kiet vanished into the shadows almost immediately. She didn't bother to track where he was going. Right now, they had far bigger problems. She knew her father, his style, he would either dive into the middle of the group of men and fight them off, or he would want to attack from the shadows and take them one by one. The bigger problem was, they didn't have enough cover to take them out without the others noticing. She looked over at Batman and he tilted his head in the direction of the man with the flamethrower. Another appeared, apparently making ready to patrol the area. She'd loved to ruin their day, but looking at the layout of the compound she knew she'd have an easier time with the soldiers. She looked at Batman and her hands moved quickly, speaking to him in sign language. _"I'll take the men, you take care of the fire-breathers."_

Batman nodded his approval, and Helena found herself momentarily shocked that he was actually agreeing. He moved off to the left, and Helena took a deep breath, pushing herself away. Here, in this moment, she was no longer Helena Wayne. She was Vengeance. She was Punishment. She was the Huntress.

With fluid grace, she stepped silently around the perimeter of the open space, the trees and tall grass giving her slight form plenty of cover. The wind blew lightly, and the only sounds were the whispers of nature, the falling rain, and the hushed words of panicking men. Something had set them on edge, and the Huntress knew it was not any of them who did it. Raising an eyebrow as she pondered their panic, she stepped from the foliage and placed her back against a large truck. Inch by inch she moved until she found herself within arm's reach of a man. She pulled out the thin rope that Batman had set into one of her costume's compartments and carefully swung it, learning it's weight and how smoothly it could glide through the air.

She inhaled slowly, and then swung the rope. It looped around the man's neck and she caught the other end with a practiced movement. A choked sound just barely escaped the man as she pulled him behind the truck with her, and she did her best to muffle the sound of his body falling on top of hers. She used the rope as a garrote, pulling until the man stopped moving, though it was difficult with one so thick. When he went limp, she kicked his corpse under the truck. Rolling onto her hands and knees, she crawled under the truck beside the body, counting the legs within her view. She tilted her head to the right, calculating the distance between them. There were seven men all near enough that she could close the distance easily. A smile spread across her face and, pulling a few onyx spheres from her belt, she rolled them between her fingers. With a flick of her wrist they were released, and they rolled along the difficult terrain of mud, gravel, and grass.

As if on cue lighting strikes from the sky, and the spheres burst open, a heavy smoke filling the immediate area. It's thick, fast-moving, and blankets them quickly. It limited their sight, and this works in her favor. She pulled out two knives, daggers really, and rolled her wrists. The Batman wouldn't like the blood, but she was not here to entertain his ridiculous morals. These men were protecting the worst of humanity. They deserved mutilation. They deserved death. In their panic, she rolled out from under the car and, carefully controlling each movement, she slashed their Achilles tendons, followed by the joints of their knees. Their cries of pain were muted as they fell and she brought the hilts of the daggers down onto their throats, silencing them. It was a deadly, brutal dance, and when the smoke finally cleared, it was the Huntress standing tall, her blades dripping with blood.

There were only a few other men standing, and she was just fine with the fact that they could see her. They charged, getting ready to fire their assault rifles, but her agility and speed far exceeded their own. One after the other she plowed through the men, jabbing them with fist or blade, bringing them down. Stepping off one, she jumped into the air, wrapping her legs around the neck of another and driving him down into the clinging mud with a head-scissor takedown. She spun her body and drove her knee into his throat, crushing his Adam's apple, listening to him choking for air.

 _"This is for the innocent."_ She whispered in the native tongue of Udon Kai. She watched the man's eyes widen before they grew distant and cold with death. She could hear the sounds of the Batman taking down the two men with flame throwers, and in seconds there was only silence. She stood amongst the death and ruin she had caused and her eyes met the Batman's. Gone was the warmth of Bruce Wayne her father. Instead, she saw only the cold judgment of the self-righteous vigilante. A bitter smile crossed her face. At least when she took down a monster, they didn't come back.

Kiet reappeared, opening the top of the tank. He gave them a thumbs up and she approached Batman. He visibly made an effort to table the conversation about murder for now, and nodded towards the compound. Helena could feel the anger in him, the disappointment, and with it came the realization that she would not wait around to hear his lecture this time. It was too late for him to act the father, too late for him to shape who she was. He had passed when the opportunity was his, and she would not give it to him a second time.

They walked towards the compound, finding the door easy enough to open. Within seconds they stepped inside, and the sounds of rainfall and nature became muted. The door closed, and it all fell to eerie silence. The Huntress pulled out her blades again and she looked at the Batman. They each nod and continue down the hallway.


	32. Chapter 32

_Rose..._

Rose didn't care if the families of the men who had her bound in chains died. They lived on the profits of human misery. Besides, she wasn't going to leave anyone alive here if she could help it. There would be no one left to punish, or do the punishing. She'd heard the excuse a thousand times. If I didn't do this he would do that, and that was all it was, an excuse. Slade had taught her that there was always a choice. She didn't have to do what he said, she could simply let him kill the people she cared about. She didn't have to fight back, she could choose to die. Whatever choice she made, though, she was the one who was making it. Even not making a choice, that was a decision. She had no sympathy for these monsters.

They bundled her into the jeep, two men in the back with her, two in the front... as if four men and a length of chain was enough to contain the Ravager. It would be laughable if it wasn't so pathetic. They'd seen the carnage she could wreak. Either they were overconfident, or this was some kind of trap. Trap or not, she would not arrive at this compound in chains.

The first man died easy. She leaned forward, and when he moved to drag her back she snapped her head into his face, driving the cartilage of his nose directly into his brain. There was blood in her hair as he slumped back, and she wrinkled her nose as he released his bowels in death. Fucking nasty, now the seat they all shared was getting wet and from the smell of it that was not where she wanted to be sitting anymore. The other man tried to yank her into submission with the chains, but this was a confined space and he was an awfully big man. When would the fools realize that good things came in small packages? She went with the momentum, rolling on top of him and taking his nose in her teeth. He screamed, pushing at her, but she locked her jaw and ground her teeth, feeling skin and cartilage part until she came away with a mouthful of flesh. She spat the end of his nose onto the seat beside them, and grinned, blood dripping out the sides of her mouth and staining her teeth red.

"You cannot contain vengeance in chains." She spoke in Khmer, as opposed to the language of Udon Kai, since that was the language she spoke best, but it was clear that the man understood her. He screamed, and a meaty arm from the front of the jeep wrapped around her neck, choking her. She had been in this position so many times before that she didn't panic as the oxygen began to cut off. She slowed her breathing, controlled her body. It would affect her precognition, but she didn't need it for a trio of superstitious thugs. She watched impassively as the man on the seat beside her tried to stop the hole where his nose used to be from pouring blood, all the while the whites of his eyes showing as he watched her, panicked as she seemed to not react to the arm squeezing around her throat.

She heard a word she was fairly certain meant devil a few times, and her smile grew more feral. Through it all she had been carefully manipulating her wrist, and just as she was beginning to see black spots in her vision, she got one hand free. Lightning fast she reached back, wrapping her fingers around the ear of the man choking her. With a barely discernible laugh, she twisted and pulled, and he released her in startled reaction. She took a deep breath of air, filling her starving lungs as she eyed the man still in the back seat like he was something she would devour. Apparently that was enough to break his nerve, fumbling with the door handle he fell out of the jeep, leaving the door unlatched as they ground to a halt.

The driver couldn't ignore what was happening anymore, but he really shouldn't have stopped the vehicle. As the remaining passenger tried to catch hold of Rose she pushed herself towards the open door, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the breath out of her for a second. Two pairs of boots hit the dirt nearby as she struggled to her knees, both difficult and uncomfortable with the lengths of chain around her. They drew nearer, wary of getting too close to the dangerous mercenary. She gave them another bloody smile. "Well, two big strong men like you, are you afraid of a tiny little girl?"

The man whose ear she twisted made the sign of a cross. "White haired devil, you are no girl."

She laughed, harsh and dark, the sound deeper than one might expect from her voice. "You think the sign of a cross will help you? If I am a devil, I've been dispatched to drag you to hell where you belong." She finally loosened the chains around her ankles enough to drag a loop off, and after that all it took was a shimmying motion and a roll to find her free of restraints. Without another weapon nearby, she grabbed the chains that had bound her, swinging one end lightly. "Now come, let me send you to he who waits."

Was there anything more hilariously disappointing than grown men fleeing from the sight of her? No matter how many times it happened, she still felt that flicker of regret for the fights that she would not be having. With a shrug she slid back into the jeep, following the path until the top of the compound was visible above the trees. The next part was harder, as she had to duck down and drive slowly, making sure that anyone keeping a lookout wouldn't see her. Slowly the jeep rumbled up to one of the entrances, and Rose slipped out through the opposite door. A cry went up and someone ran out to investigate. She laughed to herself as the men panicked quietly.

Then chaos erupted, and it wasn't even her doing. Staying hidden she watched as the Huntress, the Batman, and a man she did not recognize descended on the men. Inwardly she fumed. Bad enough that the pampered princess rain on her parade, but now Mister Holier Than Thou had come down to personally oversee his child soldier? Whatever. She wouldn't let this disrupt her own plans. Using their attack as a distraction, she slipped inside the compound. Somewhere in here was the man who was the source of all the suffering in this part of the world. She would learn what she could from him, and then leave his bloody head for old Bats to find.

The compound was quiet. The odd sound of combat from outside the only break in the oppressive silence. Speeding up her breathing as she moved through the halls, Rose artificially amped up her adrenaline, she would kill for an inhaler right now, and tapped into her limited precog ability. Flashes of images. A portrait, a plush chair, a carpet pattern. Without the drugs to enhance it, or the spike of real combat, the ability wasn't the most helpful, but she had something. Following the hall she quietly eased open doors, looking inside each room for the mastermind of the Harvest Association.


	33. Chapter 33

_Helena…_

She almost felt like she was in an odd science fiction movie. Like at any moment a slime-covered alien would charge out of the dimly lit corridor at them. She shuddered at the thought, brushing it away. What they were chasing was worse than any alien monster from a Hollywood film. She had seen worse firsthand in Gotham. The Joker, the Scarecrow, and so many others like them, they were all something out of the most vile H.P. Lovecraft story, and she had lived amidst them all. Yet, here in this moment, she wished it _was_ a slime-covered alien that was coming to kill them, rather than the darkness they were truly facing. Knowing that behind those doors were innocents being harmed by men with dark appetites killed her to her core. She may have grown up in the lap of luxury, but she had always known these evils existed. The ultimate evil is everywhere, all around them, at all times.

The hallway was utterly silent, the faint hum of electricity the only steady sound. Each step they took seemed louder than hammers crashing down onto metal in a forge with how ungodly silent the compound was. She wondered if that meant they have been spotted, or if something was going on. She could not ask Batman, he was too lost in the hunt. It worried her though, if they were expected, things could go very badly. They were only two people, and no matter how skilled they were they couldn’t face down an army on their own, not if her father wasn’t willing to kill.

They continued down the hallway, glancing at the doors as they passed by. They knew the target would be deep within the fortress. She had read the files on Batman's last visit here. He had to fight through armies to find the leader, hiding in his room behind guards and human shields. Last time, Batman left the villages to kill the kingpin. This time, that's what the Huntress was here for, even though he might hate her for it. She tried not to dwell on how hypocritical that was. He knew why she was here, what she was planning to do, but he brought her anyway. Brought her to do what he could not, what he _would not_ , and then later, when the dust cleared, he would blame her for it.

They entered another hallway, and the lights snuffed out. The entire compound seemed to shut down between one breath and the next. There was no more hum of electricity to be heard in the air, and now they could make out the rain falling on the metal exterior of the building. Helena reached out with her right hand until she felt the solid arm of the Batman. It took a moment, but the lenses he gave her to wear adjusted, allowing them to see in the pitch darkness. She turned to him, using sign language to communicate again. _Did this happen last time?_ He hadn’t said anything about it, and she was nervous.

 _No._ An abrupt shake of his head, then a pause before her father reluctantly signed back. _We are not alone, or they have a defense plan._

She nodded, and then they both hugged opposite walls. Inch by inch, they slide along the corridor, avoiding the centre. She was almost on top of it before she heard a sound, the whisper of something moving quickly. They both paused, sidestepped back in the direction they came from, and Batman held up a hand to tell her to stay put. He tapped something on his cowl and she watched his usual white lenses turn red and then blue, then white again. He held up a hand, and then slowly pointed ahead. She looked, focusing on the hallway in front of them, and then she narrowed her field of vision, staring intently in the direction that he had pointed.

After a moment, the Huntress saw what was making the sounds. Small, sharp, needles were shooting from right to left out of tiny holes. They were hitting the wall opposite, and she had to tilt her head to look at the needles. From the glistened tips and beading liquid dripping down the wall, she guessed they were coated in some kind of toxins or poisons. She looked at the Batman again, signing to him. _The power is out, but something is supplying power to this. We need to find that room._

He nodded sharply, signing back. _We stay together. They've upgraded since I've last been here. There could be other traps._

Helena nodded in return, knowing they would have to be very careful moving forward. This was becoming a house of horrors, a macabre H.H. Holmes-like catacomb of death. Icy fingers danced down her spine, and she shuddered, wondering if they had made a mistake coming here without any backup. Kiet and his tank could not save them now, they were on their own. They backtracked, slowly moving back to where they started, Batman using the tech in his cowl to monitor the hallways. They turned down another hallway, and paused when Batman pointed out another trap. Her fingers were small enough to disable the trip-wire, and once they were confident that it had been taken care of, they continued on. This mission was nothing like she thought it would be, and as they made their way down the hallway towards another room with double doors, she wished she could see past them to what horrors awaited them inside, all the while dreading what they might discover.

Batman approached the double doors, where he quickly worked to unlock the mechanism. With the power out, it took both of them to push the doors open enough to step inside. Like the hallways, this room was pitch dark, but it smelled odd, overly sterile. Like a clinic that had just been cleaned up. Their eyes adjusted to the thick blanket of darkness around them, and her hand flew to her mouth in shock and horror. She could barely interpret the images that flashed before her eyes, her mind refusing to acknowledge them. "Oh my god..."


	34. Chapter 34

_Rose..._

Moving through the compound was like strolling through a nightmare. Everything looked almost normal, but not quite. She saw sitting rooms, done up in lavish velvets and rich brocade, all nice as you could wish, except for the chains hanging from the ceiling or snaking across the ground. The décor was elaborate, neatly accented with implements of torture and punishment. Whatever Victorian horror story that the leader of the Harvest Association was trying to play out, she was more than over it. Turning a hall she almost set off some kind of tripwire, carefully stepping over it before moving down the next hall. She slowed her pace, watching her progress more carefully.

She noted three more traps, two raised floor tiles and a faint beam of red light crossing one hall, until the world went dark. Rose froze, holding her breath as the silence around her deepened. She’d been so focused on making her way through the building before that she had failed to register the quality of the quiet she had been traversing through until it was absolute. Rain crashed against the sheet metal roofing, wind driving it like a military drum solo. Shivering, she dropped to the ground, slowly creeping her way along the wall like a nervous cat, testing every step. She was blind here, but her ears were sharp and her heart was racing.

Another flash of precognition and she flattened against the floor, the soft whoosh of air barely missing her face as she went down. Something soft touched the top of her hand, and she clenched her whole body in the effort not to react. Slow as molasses she moved her other hand over, picking up whatever was touching her and rolling it between her fingers. Hair. Whatever had missed her had sliced off a lock of her hair with minimal effort. Closing her one good eye, it wasn’t doing her any good at this point, she tentatively rose back to her knees, letting her ability guide her. Twice more she flattened against the ground, and once she went rolling to the left as something heavy hit the ground beside her, shaking the walls.

She had no idea where she was being led, but she trusted in herself, in this thing within her that had saved her life more times than she could count. Finally she came to a door that felt right, and she rose on her knees to turn the knob, pausing and waiting as she listened. Flinging it open she somersaulted in, coming up to her feet at the end of the roll, hands bunched into fists. She blinked against the light, the low hum of technology. While most of the electricity in the Compound seemed to be off, this room was powering something. She closed the door to the hall carefully, snapping off the handle so that no one would be sneaking up on her, before sidling up to the panel.

CCTV feeds spread in front of her, most black without even shadows crossing them, a few were lit up though, and she noted the numbers correlated to sections of the panel in front of her. She watched in interest as the strange man that had come in with Huntress and the Batman drove a tank through the Compound. She wasn’t sure where he was headed, but from the grim set of his jaw he knew exactly where he was going and why. Silently she wished him luck. She knew what someone else’s death looked on a person’s face.

Most of the rooms that were lit up were empty, the ones that were not… well they were hard to look at. It was clear that someone had been warned that there was trouble coming. One room, tinged with frost so it had to be some kind of massive frozen storage, was filled with bodies. Tiny bodies, stripped and neatly stacked like so much firewood. Rose switched that monitor off, unable to look at it. If she dwelled on all those she had failed while trying to track these fuckers down she would be useless to those that they could still hurt.

She watched as the Waynes stepped into a macabre room, and she turned that one off too. It was too hard to see, and she had to trust that they could deal with what they faced. Instead she searched, finding the room she was looking for, the one they wouldn’t know to search for. Psimon had been involved, and he had mentioned Trigon. Mentioned this all being for his Master. That meant that somewhere in this horror show was a summoning circle, a mode of communication and of casting out the suffering he fed upon. Rose and Raven had never been close, but of all the females on the Titans team she had felt at least somewhat of a kinship with the demon-spawned hero. Plus, her best friend had been demon-touched. Out of everyone, who better than to deal with the big bad?

Scanning through, she found what she was looking for. A gallows smile spread across her face. It was funny how much the infernal had brushed the edge of her life, as if it was all building up to this moment. Making a mental note of the path she had to take, she stepped back and drove her katana through the panels, over and over, until there was no power left in the Compound. There would only be darkness out there, but darkness seemed appropriate for what she was about to do, for what she was willing to face. Hopefully Helena and her father were up to the challenge that they faced, for it was unlikely she would be able to join them. She had a blacker purpose, one that filled her heart with fear, and skyrocketed her adrenaline until the visions came like a child’s flipbook. Picture after picture, and she knew the path she would travel, though she was uncertain whether she would return from it in one piece, or at all.


	35. Chapter 35

_Helena..._

Helena's eyes closed and she looked away from the horrific scene before her, unable to bear the sights, though the stench of the room was harder to avoid. The cold grip of the Batman's fingers grabbed her chin, turning her head to face the sights before them. "Look at them. See the truth. Do not turn away as I did." He hissed in her ear.  
  
Slowly her eyes opened, tears slipping down her cheeks as she stared at the brutal sights before her. The corpses of men, women, and children splayed out upon various torture devices. A man crumpled, having bled out on a razor's edged wooden horse. A woman's face melted to a Scold’s Bridle that must have been heated before being put on. She sat in a chair, at a table dressed abnormally brightly despite the blood and puss on her collar and chest. She looked to be attending a macabre tea party that ended badly for her. Children left to die on stockades. Men and women impaled by heretic's forks. Small bodies left in head crushers. Iron maidens stand closed and locked with bloody pools on the ground around them. Her stomach turned seeing men and women dead on Judas Chairs, their bodies were torn from the inside out by something she couldn't and didn't want to see.

"Why?" She asked, pressing a hand to her stomach, trying to keep it from flip-flopping and pushing down the nausea and bile rising in her throat. She wasn't sure if she was asking why this was done to the victims, or why he was forcing her to examine it all, take it all in. She knew without a doubt that the grisly scene would haunt her nightmares for the rest of her life.

"Because this is what humanity does to each other. Helena, we can wear masks and we can call ourselves heroes, but the truth of the matter is, we are the ones who are trying to stop humanity's need to harm each other. You look at me and see a cold man, a cruel heart, and you are right. I have to be to stop this." Batman jabbed a finger in the direction of the bloody destruction in front of them.

"How can you look at this, and still say killing these monsters is wrong? How do your lofty convictions survive scenes like this? Can't you see that people who commit such atrocities deserve to die?" Her voice is buried in her throat, nearly unable to speak, though the first threads of anger are beginning to weave their way through her words.

"These are the ones who refused them. I heard of this the last time I was here." Batman moved forward, ignoring her questions, and the Huntress followed, having no other option. They navigated their way through the death and pain around them. She held her breath, the scent of the blood, rot, and death around them almost too much for her roiling stomach.

"The Bat has returned!" A feminine voice distracted Helena from her thoughts. Looking up, she spotted a woman in all black, long black hair hanging from a mask that hid her features. Helena watched as the Batman became very still. She wasn't even sure he was still breathing. It was eerie how still he could become. She looked between her father and the woman, and then she forced her daughter-like curiosity to go away. She steeled herself and became the Huntress again.

"What? No words Batman? You do not recognize one of your abandoned? The last time you were here, you swore to save us all. You started a war and then you were gone." The woman stepped towards them and Huntress heard the soft whistle of metal slicing the air. Huntress moved aside and gasped softly. Where she just stood, a thin blade now resided, the woman's hand gripped the handle tightly, and even with her mouth closed Huntress can see that the woman was smirking.

"This is between us," Batman growled, and in a blur of movement he struck the woman, grabbing her wrist and twisting violently. The sword clanged to the ground and the woman struck back.

Huntress backstepped and then ducked on instinct, a sword slicing the air where her head had been moments ago. She spun around and another woman in all black stood behind her. The Huntress didnot think, she attacked. Two blades slipped into her hands from the gauntlets on her wrists, and she slashed the woman's forearm before slapping the sword out of her hand. She did not know who these would-be assassins were, and she did not care. She had to get through the room. They had to finish this mission. She did not like what she was learning about her father here, and she did not like the pain he left behind.

For being quiet, the woman was no trained fighter. All too easily the Huntress fought her into a corner and she stabbed one of her blades into the woman's chest. She did not know if the woman she had just killed was a victim or not, she did not know if that woman was just fighting for her own life, and right now, she couldn't handle thinking about it. A soft footstep caught her attention and behind the sounds of the Batman fighting the woman, she followed the whisper of the footsteps. Hiding behind the torture devices, was a small child with gaunt eyes and matted hair. She couldn't be older than seven and she looked severely malnourished. The Huntress faded and Helena returned, taking a step towards the girl.

"I'm here to help." She whispered in the native tongue of Udon Khai. The little girl turned and ran, pushing open a door Helena didn't see before. Without a single thought, Helena chased after the child, leaving the Batman to his own battles. They had come here to save the children, and that is what she was going to do.


	36. Chapter 36

_Rose..._

The race through the compound towards the summoning circle was harder than Rose could have anticipated. If her adrenaline hadn't been pumping so hard she might not have survived it. She set off at least three traps, a pitfall, and two deadly poison darts, sidestepping their lethal effects seconds from death by the grace of her precognition. She didn't slow down, she couldn't. She didn't tread more carefully, she wouldn't. She simply pushed on, harder, faster, the end of this nightmare so very nearly at her fingertips. Running until her lungs screamed, until she could almost feel the capillaries bursting, she let her mind drift. Even with her enhancements she could never match the speed of someone like Bart, or even Kon, but she could get damn close to the best of them, and a sight better than Tim or Gar.

Angrily she shoved aside the thought of her old team, trying to regain some semblance of focus. She had never belonged there, though she could finally admit that she had never really tried. Even now, with so many echoes of the past surrounding her, she stood alone, faced everything alone. Not too far away fought people with skills that could help her defeat the monster at the heart of the compound, but Rose was, in the end, her father's daughter. She was far too proud and way too stubborn to admit that she was out of her depth, even when the odds were stacked so heavily against her. Slade had beaten into her a level of self-reliance that occasionally bordered on suicidal, though perhaps, at least at times, he had meant well. Had hoped that one of his children would survive to adulthood.

Here, in these quiet moments, with only her rapid heartbeat and laboured breathing to comfort her, she admitted that she was being foolish. The whole endeavor had been beyond foolhardy, but there was nothing she could do about it now. She was committed. One last stand. One last triumph or failure to rub in her absentee father's face. Besides, the Wayne's had no superpowers, no abilities beyond those of a finely tuned human. Dragging them into this confrontation would simply sacrifice two more bodies. Maybe one of them would get out, would summon someone who could really end this. Maybe all she had to do was delay the inevitable.

She placed a hand on the solid steel door, feeling the infernal heat radiating from behind it, and she felt, deep below her roiling pit of rage and self-hatred, a pillar of uncontrollable fear. For a moment she let it wash over her, faced it, weighed it. She was no coward, but she would have to be an idiot not to be afraid of what lay on the other side of this macabre portal. She snorted. Macabre portal? Maybe she had spent too much time with those idiots back in her Titans days. The humour calmed her, and she carefully packed the fear back away where it belonged, where it wouldn't compromise her mission, where it couldn't make decisions for her. Fear was only useful when you needed to react, but what she needed was to plan. To make every step count. Every breath could be her last, so she couldn't waste a single one.

She didn't have her armor, her extra weapons, or a plan, but she had her katanas and her skills. One hand traced across her face. She had her father's legacy. Not just the bad, but the good too. He was a brilliant strategist. A fearsome fighter. A gifted mercenary. She was all those things, in her own way. She head learned from not just him, but from others. From Dick Grayson, and from the Titans. She'd learned from Eddie, and from Raven, both of whom had experience with demons. For fuck's sake, if it really was Trigon on the other side of this door she'd occasionally shared a room with his only daughter.

She didn't have to kill him, she wasn't sure that was even possible. All she had to do was get that summoning circle sealed, preferably with the big bad on the other side. Her precognition flared, flashing options and outcomes before her vision. Scene after scene of her failure. Her body broken on the brick floor. Her blood splashed across the ancient runes. Curved black claws piercing through her rib-cage as Trigon lifted her into the air. Then, there. One sliver of possibility. One chance at making it through this alive. One opportunity to not royally fuck this up.

Laying one katana on the floor, she allowed herself a moment's regret, a moment where she heard the soft cries of frightened children off to the left. She hesitated, biting her lip and turning to the corridor where the sound had escaped, indecision tugging at her heartstrings. She looked back at the steel door. She could turn away, let someone else deal with the demon, go find the children... But who would save the next batch? Or the ones after that?

Her lips moved in a silent apology before she turned back to the steel door, slicing the finely honed edge of her blade across her palm. The blood welled up in the wound, a darker black against the shadows of the corridor, and the faint reddish glow emanating from beneath the forbidding steel door. She splayed her palm across the place where a door would normally have a handle, and felt the tug as whatever twisted magicks were at work here drew the blood from her. Runes lit up, radiating out from where her hand was fixed to the steel, a brilliant pattern of glowing red until the entire door was lit.

With a gasp she stumbled back, her hand coming free as the steel doors swung open. Before her lay the chamber used to summon Trigon, to feed him the fear and pain of so many souls, and more than likely the place where she would die. Firming up her jaw, she wiped her bloody palm off on her borrowed pants, and stepped into the eerily crimson chamber.


End file.
